


What a Wicked Game

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon, F/M, Secret Relationship, Smut, a rewrite of Second in Command
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 108,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 736
Kudos: 491





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends!
> 
> I'm so, so, so excited for this one! It's part of the Captain Swan rewrite-a-thon and is a brand new version of [Second in Command](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717390/chapters/36535374). For those of you who read the original, some things are the same, but it's not a lot. This is a much more plotted out, consistent story, and really, it's the one I wanted to write that first go round but didn't have the confidence to do. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 💕
> 
> Dates have been included for your convenience. Anything in 2018 is present-day, and I will have double markers around flashbacks!

**May 13th, 2018.**

_An heir and a spare._

How many headlines have been written that way since the day of Killian’s birth twenty-eight years ago?

How many news broadcasters had repeated those words during the nightly circuit complaining about the fact that the monarchy in Great Britain still exists and somehow putting all of the blame on him? And yet, how many have used him for clicks and views?

How many jokes have been told about him being the understudy to his older brother’s starring role as he walks down the city streets, ball cap pulled tight over his forehead to conceal his identity?

How many times has he been told “this doesn’t pertain to you, Killian, go find another way to occupy your time?”

How many times had he been overlooked when his brother was around?

These questions have swirled around in Killian’s head nearly every day, and while they’ve festered into more questions and demons that like to attack him in the dark of night, some of them do not bother him anymore.

At least, most of the time.

There are times when his jaw clenches as he stands next to Liam at a public event. The press ignores him in favor of making sure that Liam is in the center of the frame so that he can be on the front page of whatever paper or tabloid they are taking pictures for. It’s funny. They seemed to have no issue with taking pictures of Killian when he was at a pub or in a particularly indisposed position, and yet when he is doing good for his country and his community, no one seems to care.

Tabloid fodder. That’s what Killian is. He’ll never be anything but that. No one cares about anything else.

He cares. That’s what he tells himself matters. He’s doing good for the world with the position he’s found himself in, and it doesn’t matter what people who have no impact on his life think. 

What does matter to Killian is when his own brother and his own father treat him as indispensable in his own home. When he was younger and shooed away from spending time with them, his idols as a five-year-old lad, he would run crying to his mother, curling up in her lap as she consoled him, repeating “it’s okay. It’s okay, my little love. Mummy loves you so very much.” She would run her fingers through his hair, and he would think that everything is okay, if just for a little while. But without fail, his father would find them cuddled up like that and scold his mother for “coddling the boy”, and his own happy place wouldn’t be happy any longer.

Killian was treated much the same as Liam in many ways, the same lessons and the same schools, but it was made clear to him that Liam was _different_ , that Liam was special in a way that Killian wasn’t. When he was younger, he thought it was just because Liam was eight years older and when he got to be Liam’s age, he’d be special, too. He didn’t quite understand until he was six and a child at school called him “the spare” that Liam is indeed special because he’s older, just not in the way that Killian always thought.

Liam is special because he’s the heir to the British throne while Killian is third, soon to be fourth, in line.

(As if things like the Monarchy and its heirs truly matter in this day and age.)

So, it was at the tender age of six that Killian realized, truly realized, the difference between him and Liam. It’s also when he realized why people would sometimes take pictures of him when his mum walked him to school, but why they would _always_ take pictures of him when he was with his brother or his father. He understood why when he had to dress in scratchy suits for parades or stand on the balcony in front of Buckingham Palace. They would ride in different cars, of course, or he would stand off to the side while on the balcony, not as far away as his cousins, but not in the center.

Eventually, he learned that it wasn’t a bad thing to be the “spare.” It was damn annoying to have to live his life in the spotlight, despite all of his privileges, but once he got older, he learned how to work it in his favor.

When he was seventeen, he realized that he was attractive. Women would flock to him even if they didn’t know who he was, and for the first time in his entire life, he craved the attention he was getting.

He reveled in it, really, until he began studying at Cambridge after going through initial training for His Majesty's Navy. Women would come to him in droves, laugh at his jokes and flirt with him at the pubs, enticing him to go home with them that night, and it didn’t matter if he did or not. Something about him “sleeping his way through Cambridge” would be in the headlines the very next day.

Milah had been the worst of it all, but even so many years later, that is still difficult to think about. She was different. He’d loved her.

And he always knew that as soon as the headline came out, he would be getting a call from either his father or his brother scolding him for his behavior. It didn’t matter what he had to say. Any explanation he had for his behavior – as if it was anybody’s business but his – was a moot point. All they cared about was the stain he was putting on the image of the family.

They no longer saw him as a person. They saw him as the screw-up who stained their perfectly crafted image by falling in love with a woman who used him for fame, no matter how much she claimed the love was true in the end.

Killian has never truly recovered from that in the eyes of his family, and he doesn’t believe it will ever get better from the way that Liam and Brennan continue to treat him. If Liam can be kind to him, laugh with him and joke with him in public, why can’t he even attempt to show more kindness to him at home?

Usually it doesn’t bother him. Not anymore. After years of neglect, he’s grown a thick skin.

But today is different.

It’s not different for him, no. It’s the same as every other day, but Liam and his wife just announced they’re having their second child – with none of the fanfare of how they announced their first – to the immediate family at dinner (it won’t be announced to the public until Elsa can no longer hide her stomach), and all he can think about is how that child will never be shown the love his or her older brother Alexander is shown. That child will be treated as Killian was, like nothing more than a back-up child who’s not truly needed in the family. If they’re lucky, Elsa will show both children the love his mother showed her two children – _shows_ her two children - even if it can be misguided.

So, even if today isn’t any different for him, he still hurts. Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger, and his wounds have opened up in a nasty way today. So he does what he always does when he needs to get away – frankly what he does almost every day he can – and he gets dressed in one of his ball caps and plaid shirts, slipping out of his slacks and into a pair of black jeans.

It’s not like the movies where he has to sneak out of the palace in some kind of overdramatic top secret mission. Those have always made him roll his eyes. He lives in an apartment in Kensington, across the courtyard from Liam and his family, so when he wants to leave, he can get in his car and go, only notifying his security so they can follow if they deem it necessary.

Luckily, his security is very discreet, and August is one of the people he trusts most in the world.

Killian climbs into his car and drives to his favorite pub, The Swan’s Feather, that’s on the other side of Hyde Park in Marylebone. The patrons don’t care who you are, just that you keep quiet and don’t start fights when the alcohol is coursing through your veins. It helps that the lighting is dim, so he’s less likely to be noticed. No one thinks a prince is going to be the guy sitting next to you nursing a beer.

Or two. Or three. Or his usual glass of rum.

After he parks his car a few blocks away in one of his usual spots, Killian makes his way to the pub, sliding onto his favorite barstool in the corner hidden away from all of the other patrons. The bartender takes awhile to get to him, but he doesn’t mind. He’s not in any hurry tonight when his mind seems to be taking up all of his time.

When the bartender does finally turn to him, she recognizes him – not for who he is to the nation but who he is to this pub: a regular – and slides him a glass of rum and a napkin with words scribbled on it, not even bothering to talk to him, just a small smile on her face in acknowledgement of him.

“Thank you, lass,” he tells her, picking up the glass to take a healthy sip before turning his attention to the television to watch the football match like everyone else in the darkened room.

Killian stays that way until it’s closing time, just enjoying having time to himself in a normal setting for a change. No one is bothering him or trying to talk to him, and he is able to have a moment to simply breathe. As the other patrons filter out, he doesn’t move. He watches everyone go, counting the seconds until they’re all gone.

As soon as the last patron leaves and the barkeep locks the door behind her, Killian’s turning on the stool to face the front door. And then she’s there, fiercely pressing her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck as he wraps his around her waist, running his hand up her back under her t-shirt so that he can feel the bare skin there, and pulling her closer so she can stand in between his legs, body against body.

“Hi, love,” Killian says against her lips, pulling back just enough so that he can look at her without letting her go.

He’s never letting her go.

“Why are you here, Killian?”

It’s not the softness he expects from her, from his Emma, but it’s not harsh either. He can tell she’s confused as to why he’s here. He wasn’t supposed to see her until Thursday, and it’s only Sunday.

He’s not looking at her anymore, having moved to nuzzle his chin into her neck, beard scratching against the softness of her skin as he nips at her jaw and breathes in the smell of her perfume. “I needed to see you,” he whispers against her neck, placing kisses up and down the side of it, moving down to her collarbone and ending at her shoulder, pulling her t-shirt aside to reach more soft skin.

He’s trying to distract her, and he knows it. The bloody ass that he is.

Apparently she knows it too because she’s pulling back from him, completely disconnecting their bodies until she’s standing two feet away from him, arms crossed against her chest.

“Killian, no,” Emma states firmly, giving him the glare he’s seen from her a million times before. “You’re here when you’re not supposed to be. You didn’t text me beforehand. You’re avoiding talking to me by trying to get me to go to bed with you. That’s Killian 101 for not talking about something that you need to talk about.”

If he didn’t love her so damn much, he would hate her for knowing him so well right now.

If he didn’t love her so damn much, he’d point out all the times Emma’s used sex to get out of having a conversation.

Her knowing him doesn’t keep him from leaning forward to grab her hands, pulling her back toward him and running his hands down her back to rest against her bottom.

Yep, he definitely is an ass, and she’s got a damn good ass to be able to hold onto.

But the woman who has stolen his heart when he wasn’t looking, she isn’t a bloody ass. She’s a bloody angel if angels are crude and curse and like to snap at him when she hasn’t eaten. She’s his…she’s his entire life. She knows him better than he knows himself, has known him that well since he was twenty-three years old, and there’s nothing in the world that he loves more than her. And nothing in the world that he hates more than not being able to see her every day, to go places with her and show the world (Metaphorically, of course. He doesn’t want the actual entire world to know about her since that’s not what Emma wants.) that this incredible woman loves him for who he is, not for the titles next to his name or the money and fame that come with it.

They met on a day not dissimilar to today, him trying to avoid his family by disappearing among the everyday man, the man he so desires to be. He’d spent the day wandering, no destination in mind. But London being London in the spring, it had started to rain, pour more like it, and he was nowhere near his car. So he looked to the shops around him, trying to hedge what would be his best bet, and this pub stood out to him, limited crowd and dark lights.

Plus, you know, alcohol.

-/-

-/-

**March 5th, 2013.**

The rain pours down on Killian as he makes it inside The Swan’s Feather, his clothes dripping water and clinging to his body like a second skin. He tries to shake off the water without getting it all over the place, but it doesn’t work, water dripping and shoes squeaking as he makes his way across the hardwood floor to find an empty booth to hide in.

Just as he’s sliding in, clothes sticking to the leather seat as he moves, a blonde woman in some of the tightest jeans he’s ever seen (not that he was staring or anything like that) comes up to him, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and placing her hands on her hips.

She’s gorgeous, and she means business. Suddenly, his throat is dry even if nothing else about him is.

“Up,” she commands in an obviously American accent, raising her hands like he doesn’t understand what “up” means.

He thinks he may be stunned into silence right now. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

“Up,” she repeats, more force in her voice now.

“Just…just what do you think you’re doing, lass?” His voice definitely just squeaked at that. He’s twenty-three. His voice shouldn’t fucking squeak anymore.

She nods to the booth where he’s sitting, arms crossed over her chest now, and if he were to look down, she’s sure to be taping one foot against the floor. “You’re going to ruin the seat with how soaked through your clothes are, and while this place isn’t the palace, it doesn’t mean you can ruin our booths.”

Bloody hell, she knows who he is. It’s not like he’s got some master disguise on, but he’s been doing this for years and to his knowledge, no one has noticed. And if they have, they haven’t said anything.

Obviously she’s of a different breed.

She’s still staring at him as he moves to get up, booth indeed still squeaking – honestly much like his voice – as he goes. And when he stands, he realizes that the girl is shorter than he thought, as he’s standing a head over her. From his place in the booth she looked as if she could slay a dragon no questions asked.

Not that dragons are real or anything. But if they were, he’d call her.

He thinks she’s about to kick him back out into the rain like some sort of lost puppy, but she doesn’t, just grabs his forearm and starts pulling him toward the loo.

What the hell is going on?

And why the hell is he following no questions asked?

Turns out, there’s an extra door in this hallway, and when she pulls out a key to unlock it, he thinks he’s either about to be murdered or she’s got a flat above the pub. Luckily, it’s the latter of the two options. Of course, she could still murder him in the flat.

She doesn’t though. She leaves him in the living room while she disappears down the hallway and through a door. He’s unsure of what’s happening, unsure of what to do. Would it be inappropriate for him to look around? Are there rules in this type of situation? What kind of situation is this?

Killian decides to just say screw it. This isn’t a normal day. She’s left him out here, and it’s not a crime to have his gaze wander.

There’s a photograph of three people, an older man with sandy blonde hair, slightly graying on the sides, with a woman around the same age next to him, bright green eyes contrasted against her raven hair. If a young version of the blonde woman whose home he’s apparently in wasn’t in the picture, he’d know that the woman was her mother just from the eyes alone.

“In case your detective skills aren’t great,” the woman says, startling him enough to drop the frame back down on the shelf and turn to her, “those are my parents. And obviously me.” Then she’s thrusting some clothes at him, a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here. Put these on. They’re my dad’s, and they should fit you. I can put your clothes in the dryer if you want. Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second, though.”

“I would despair if you did,” he flirts, only to realize that his usual method has fallen flat. “I, um, thanks,” he tells her, taking the clothes and scratching his beard. “That’s really kind of you miss…”

“Nolan,” she answers his unasked question. “I’m Emma Nolan. It’s nice to meet you, your Highness.”

He blanches at that, not wanting this woman – Emma apparently – to be so formal with him when he’s about to put on her father’s clothes. “Please,” he says, almost begging, “call me Killian.”

She laughs at that, and it’s the most unexpectedly sweet sound he’s ever heard. “My mother might murder me if she heard me say that, but okay, _Killian_.”

She’s smiling at him now, just this small, little thing with her green eyes shining, almost like she realizes the weird situation that the two of them are in.

“Can I change in one of these rooms or am I to drop my jeans right here?”

“Bathroom is the first door on the left.”

When he comes back out changed into her father’s clothes, which fit him surprisingly well, she’s in the kitchen making something to drink. He can already hear the dryer running. The woman, Emma he corrects himself, works fast.

He’s unsure what to do with himself, feeling entirely out of place and unwelcome, but without even looking at him, she tells him to take a seat at the counter. She’s making some hot chocolate for the two of them.

“Hot chocolate? No tea?” He sounds like an ungrateful asshole for asking, but it’s not because he wants tea. It’s because he’s curious about her choice of drink.

“Well, that’s very stereotypical British of you,” she tells him, turning around to look at him as she pours the hot chocolate into two mugs, sprinkling what looks like cinnamon into hers. “But I guess you are as stereotypical British as they come.”

“Are you not British, love?” And even as he asks it, he knows it’s a dumb question. The judgmental look on her face, nose all scrunched up, is deserved but not necessary.

“Well, if my American accent is anything to go by, I’d say no.” He must have gone all red because the harsh look on her face melts, just the tiniest bit, into a soft smile. “Dad’s American. Mom’s British. I’ve got dual citizenship and was raised in America until a little after I turned eighteen. We’ve been here for about two years now. _Came across the pond,”_ she’s using a cheeky accent now, and he _likes_ this lass, “when my mom’s dad died and left us the pub.”

“That’s quite a story, Emma.”

She shrugs. “Eh. It is what it is.”

Eventually, they dissolve into talking. It’s mostly about her. He has no desire to talk about himself. He’s tired of that. But when she says something that he likes, like mentioning a show he watches or a book he’s read, he chimes in with his opinion. Time seems to fly by, and when the dryer dings, he realizes he’s been up in this woman’s flat for an hour, like this is something totally normal.

An hour ago, he thought he might get murdered.

Once he’s changed back into his clothes, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to leave, but he’s sure Emma needs to get back to work. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know who’s been running the pub while they’ve been up there, but he’s sure Emma wouldn’t have skirted her responsibilities just to talk to him. He can tell after an hour of knowing her that she’s fiercely independent, but her loyalty runs deep. She wouldn’t let her parents’ business run to the ground like that. Maybe it was her parents who stayed to run the pub while she came up here with him.

Oh fuck, is he going to meet her parents right now?

He must have been caught up in his thoughts because when he snaps out of it, he realizes she’s staring at him again.

“So you can’t stay up here,” she tells him, picking up her keys and shuffling him to the door, “but I can’t technically kick you out, especially now that you’re not going to ruin our booths with your wet clothes. So you can either stay down in the pub or go someplace else. It doesn’t matter to me.”

He realizes that it really doesn’t matter to her. She doesn’t care who he is. She sees him as another regular person who she has no particular feelings of, and it’s the most refreshing thing he’s experienced in a long time. So he stays at the pub, choosing to test his luck and sit up at the bar with her.

Her parents weren’t the ones keeping the bar, just a young man by the name of Will, so bullet dodged there. Not that he’s quite sure what the bullet was.

This might very well be one of the best nights he’s had in a long damn time.

-/-

-/-

Killian’s brought out of his reminiscing of how all of this started five years ago to the present and to the very real woman standing in front of him, soothingly rubbing her hands up and down his biceps.

“Babe,” she murmurs quietly while her hands move to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, “what’s wrong? I need you to talk to me.”

“Liam and Elsa are going to have another baby,” he mumbles quietly, leaning his head forward at her touch. And bless this woman because he doesn’t have to explain why this upsets him. She knows.

“And you’re upset because you think this child, their second child, is going to be treated like you were.”

“Aye,” he confirms, nodding his head where it’s now rested against the top of her breasts, her fingernails scratching his skull, and God that feels good.

“Killian?” she sighs, hands stilling as she lifts his head so he’ll look at her. “Do you want to know how I know that this child is going to have a life so full of love that he or she won’t know what to do with it?”

“How?”

“Because,” she smiles, and even if he feels like shit right now, he smiles back just because that smile of hers is so damn beautiful, “you, my love, are their uncle. And the amount of love that I know you have in your heart,” she rests her palm over his chest, and he knows she can feel his heart beating, “is just absolutely insane. So even if, God forbid, this child isn’t shown the love they deserve by their parents, they’ll have you, and that will make all the difference in the world.”

“I love you.” He just – he can’t believe that he stumbled into a life where this woman is his, and he loves her so damn much that he can’t not say it. He can’t not tell her at every opportunity. “I love you,” he repeats, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her ear, her neck, her shoulder, her lips, any place he can get his lips in contact with, whispering an _I love you_ against every place his lips touch.

“I love you, too,” she finally replies once he gives her some reprieve, lips swollen and chest flushed red. “Will you come to bed with me tonight?”

“Always.”

They both know that last word can’t be true, not in their current situation, but he says it anyways.

Emma takes his hand and leads him to the staircase that goes to her flat. Most of the lights are turned off, but the hallway’s overhead lamp casts a soft yellow shadow over the darkened home. He can hear the telltale box fan that David and Mary Margaret sleep with, and he smiles at the familiarity of it all, at the normalcy. He could likely map this flat with his eyes closed, knowing all of the inches of the hardwood, the places where the wood groans under his weight from Emma’s bedroom on his path to the bathroom in the middle of the night. This place…this place is his home, but to the outside world, he’s never existed between these walls. He’s never stepped foot here, but his entire world resides here. His entire world resides here, and she’s guiding him into her room with practiced, familiar hands that grasp onto his.

They don’t speak while he slips out of his clothes and into some of the sleeping clothes that he keeps here. Half of her closet is filled with his things, and it makes him smile as he folds the shirt he was wearing and places it on the top shelf with his jeans. He longs for the day when his home is filled with her things, _their things_ , but his relationship with his family has never been worse than it is right now. It’s complicated in every sense of the word, and he’s got no clue how they’re going to tell his family about the two of them when the time is right.

Is the time ever going to be right?

Is there ever going to be an outcome that doesn’t end in disaster, in losing the woman he cares for more than anything?

He’s terrified of losing Emma. She’s the best thing in his life, the woman who has convinced him that he’s worth loving and that family isn’t all bad, that all the small pieces of good that he sees in his might actually be able to bloom into something more. She, despite all of the things she’s been through in life, sees the good in the world, in him, when he sometimes only sees the darkness. So as for right now, they’ll go on as they have been for nearly five years, and things between them will stay good and stay happy.

They’ll stay hidden.

Killian might be a coward for not telling his family, or it very well may be the bravest thing he’s ever done by loving someone who he was never supposed to love. Of course, he knows that he was actually supposed to love her. He’s not sure if he believes in fate, but something led him here five years ago. And something keeps bringing him back.

“You’re overthinking,” Emma accuses as she settles down onto her bed, shifting under the soft white comforter and sitting up against the padded headboard until she gets into a comfortable position. She’s always moving around in her sleep, taking forever to get into a place that she likes. 

“I would argue, but I know there’s no point in lying to you. You somehow always seem to know.”

“Just come to bed, Killian,” she encourages, soft smile on her face that he can barely make out in the darkness, the only light coming from her open blinds and the streetlamps outside, but her smile still makes the vicious storm in his mind settle into a light rain. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He sighs before crawling into bed with her, sliding his body under the covers and burying his face in the pillow he’s come to know as his as Emma’s fingers move over his bare back, her nails lightly digging into his skin while she draws indiscernible patterns there. It feels fantastic, small tingles running down his spine the longer she does it, and when she starts pressing kisses against each of his vertebrae, he thinks he might fall asleep at how soothing all of her touches are. How soothing they always are.

How can one person calm him so?

“Your shoulders are still tense. Have you been this stressed out all day?”

“Aye.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

Her fingers stop their movements momentarily before starting up again, this time a little more forceful, pressing into him and working out the stresses a carries in his body. “You’re never bothering me, Killian. If you need to talk, I’m here without question. Without fail. You know that.”

He does know that, but sometimes he doesn’t want to share his burdens with Emma. He doesn’t wish to weigh her down with them, but he knows that’s unhealthy. They share with each other, and they work through things together. But stubbornness often prevails until it doesn’t, either he or Emma pulling the other out of their solitude.

“Aye, but I wanted time to myself. I felt ridiculous being so upset over my sister-in-law telling me she’s pregnant. I love Elsa. I should be thrilled. Why am I not thrilled? What kind of asshole does that make me?”

Probably the worst of the worst. What kind of man isn’t happy for his family?

“It doesn’t make you one. You’ve got a complicated relationship with your family. Most people have complicated relationships with their family. It’s never all sunshine and roses, even with my small family, and you’re doing the best you can under the circumstances.”

He sighs into the pillow, and while Emma doesn’t solve his problems tonight, she makes him feel better about them, makes him understand that few things are ever as bad as they seem. “You know I love you, right?”

“You may have mentioned it a few times today.”

He turns his head to look at her, her face half in the light and half in the darkness so that one emerald eye shines brightly. “You’re cheeky.”

“I know I am. And I love you, by the way. I thought you should know that. So you want to hear a story?”

“A story?”

What the hell is she talking about? Why does she want to tell him a story?

“Yeah, you know, like ‘once upon a time’ and all that? I know you know what a story is, babe. You’re university educated after all.”

“Obviously,” he chuckles, reaching his hand up to cup her face, feeling her soft skin under his touch, “but I don’t understand why you want to tell one.”

“Because I’m not ready to go to bed, and I think you need something to cheer you up.”

He smiles, and something settles in his heart, something he’s known for a long time but is continuously reaffirmed. She’s it for him. There will never be anyone else but her, and no matter what happens with his family, he’ll always have Emma just as she will always have him. He doesn’t know what will happen with his family when they do eventually tell them, but he knows what will happen with he and Emma.

They’ll be fine.

“Alright, darling, tell me a story.”

She slides down the bed and turns on her side so that her nose is brushing against his and her hand is resting on his shoulder, fingers dancing across his skin.

“So once upon a time,” she begins, smiling at him so brightly that he can practically feel it in his bones, and he moves his right hand from her cheek to hold onto her waist, feeling the soft curve there, “there was a man and a woman – ”

“I like this tale already.”

“Shush. I’m trying to tell a really riveting story. I think it’s like a fairytale, but it’s better because it’s real.”

He squeezes her waist, and she scrunches her face up so that all of her features are contorted, making her look like some kind of Emma-adjacent blob. “I shall listen with rapt attention, my love.”

“You’re sweet,” she gushes before reaching up to kiss his nose. “So as I was saying, there was a man and a woman, and the man crashes into the woman’s home unannounced and the tiniest bit unwelcome, his clothes wet from the rain. They don’t hit it off right away, but it’s funny how things change.”

-/-

Emma’s slight figure is spread across the mattress when he wakes up the next morning, the weight of her legs pressing down onto his, and just as he’s adjusting himself to move away from her, Emma rolls over and presses her body further into his so that her nose is pressing against his ribcage and her knees are painfully hitting his thigh.

Killian sighs, used to Emma and her penchant for taking up too much space, and settles himself back down, knowing he’ll be here for awhile. It’s fine, really. He’s got a meeting later this afternoon, but that’s far from now. The only reason he’s up early is from not being able to sleep well and being tired of trying to fall back into a slumber. His mind never quite shut off, demons attacking him from all angles, and Killian knows that he’ll likely be falling asleep early tonight from the fatigue.

“Where are you going?” Emma mumbles into his skin before flipping over again and tugging his arm so that she’s nestled into the crook of his elbow. “It’s so early.”

“Nine in the morning is not early.”

“It is when you were up until four.”

Killian hums but doesn’t say anything else before leaning forward and brushing his lips over the nape of Emma’s neck, laying several delicate kisses there. She’s sensitive to that spot, as well as the spot behind her ears and around her collarbones, and he makes sure to run his tongue right around the lobe in a way that has a little gasp escaping Emma. He takes that as encouragement, especially when Emma arches back into him, and his free hand finds the skin of her thigh. Slowly, he drags his fingers up across her skin until he’s tugging down the waistband over her shorts so he can feel more skin, the heat practically radiating off of her.

Beautiful. She’s so beautiful like that.

Emma whines when his fingers brush over where she very obviously wants him, and since he’s feeling a bit cheeky right now, Killian snatches his fingers away from her and runs them over her hip and up the flat of her stomach.

“Killian, I swear to God if you don’t - ”

“If I don’t what, love?”

“Get back to exactly what you were doing.”

His fingers trace up higher before moving back down, Emma sighing with the movement, and Killian smiles into her shoulder as he urges her leg up a little higher.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah, I - ”

Emma’s bedroom door opens then, David walking in, and Killian’s hand flinches away from Emma before Emma is pulling the covers further over them both, as if they weren’t already covered. His heart is beating like a drum, the pace quick, and Killian can feel a red heat brush over him as he stares at Emma’s father.

David is staring right back at him with lips that can’t seem to close.

But then he blinks and smiles, and it’s the David Killian has been used to in the past few years instead of the one from when he first started dating Emma.

“Killian,” David laughs, stepping further into the room. “I didn’t know you were here. I was about to tell Emma that I’m making omelets this morning. Would you like one?”

“Yeah, Dave, that would be grand. Thanks.”

“No problem.” David turns his attention to Emma. “Sweetheart, are you sick? Your cheeks are a little flushed.”

Killian has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as Emma squirms. “It’s hot in here is all. An omelet sounds great Dad. With bacon?”

“Of course.”

And then David is stepping back and closing the door behind him. Emma immediately rolls over onto her back, and Killian can see the flush of her cheeks and the red over the swell of her breasts. It only makes him laugh harder.

“I’ve really got to get my own place,” she groans, tossing her arm over her face. “Get up and go take a shower.”

“You want to join me? Finish what we started?”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening today. Something about my dad walking in that really kills the mood.”

They spend the morning with Emma’s parents, their food on plates in front of them on the weathered coffee table. Mary Margaret has always been into antiques or anything made to look like it wasn’t bought in a furniture store in the past ten years, and anyone who takes a look around their flat can tell. Everything is in shades of browns and whites from the paint on the wall to the distressed television stand that sits across from a tan couch full of more pillows than anyone should own. As someone who has a myriad of pillows in his own home, that is saying something. Picture frames scatter every surface, fond memories displayed in printed form, and it feels so much like a home that his heart almost aches every time he’s here.

His homes have always been ostentatious and full of actual antiques from hundreds of years ago that under no circumstances is he allowed to sit on them or place a cup of tea there. Sure, some of the personal apartments have been a little homier, his especially, but it’s never quite felt like what it is that the Nolan’s have.

His family has never been the type to sit on the couch in pajamas eating omelets and watching reruns of Mary Margaret’s favorite reality television shows. Things like that were kept for privacy, and Killian has no idea this was abnormal until he went to university and saw how people his age actually lived. Brennan and Allison obviously cared very little of making sure that he had a normal upbringing, but Killian does know that his mum at least tried.

Eventually, he has to leave and the Nolans have to begin their prep work for today’s opening, so Killian gathers his few things, texts August that he’s on his way home in a few minutes, and then he’s kissing Emma goodbye and thanking her for talking him down last night before walking down the stairs and exiting through the back entrance of the pub.

“Prince Killian,” a man’s voice calls out, and Killian turns to see the flash of a camera followed by several more, a throng of photographers standing in front of him, each of them taking pictures of him and crowding him into the wood of the door that just shut behind him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for such a kind response to the first chapter! I didn't realize how many of you loved the original like you did, and it warmed my heart to see that! Even more that you're giving this one a chance!
> 
> Whatever are these two going to get up to in this chapter? 😊

**May 14th, 2018**

“I’ve really got to get my own place,” Emma groans, tossing her arm over her face and wishing that her dad didn’t just walk in on she and Killian making out. That’s happened far too many times, but moving out isn’t really financially feasible. “Get up and go take a shower.”

“You want to join me? Finish what we started?”

“Yeah, no,” Emma laughs as Killian hovers above her, his brows easily moving across his forehead in the way that makes her laugh. “That’s not happening today. Something about my dad walking in that really kills the mood.”

Killian juts his lower lip out. “Please?”

“No, you asshole.” Emma pushes at him again even if she isn’t at all using her full strength, and Killian rolls off her and nearly rolls off the bed. “You’re coming back in a few days, right?”

“Aye,” he grumbles as he gets out of bed and walks toward her dresser so that he can pull out some of the clothes that he keeps here. “What of it?”

“We can have some alone time. With the door locked. I might even shave my legs for you.”

Killian turns around to look at her and dramatically gasps, his hand pressed to his chest. “You might shave? For me? Darling, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve not having hairy Emma in bed with me, but I am eternally thankful.”

Emma reaches over and grabs one of her throw pillows that’s been jostled around to the bottom of the bed and tosses it at Killian. It hits him straight in the chest, and he very obviously fakes it hurting him by bending his knees and pretending to fall down before leaning forward and hovering over her once more, his blue eyes right in her face so that they’re all that she can see.

He is such an asshole who is stupid good looking, and she is never going to be good with words. That’s always going to be Killian’s thing.

“I love you,” she whispers, and Killian’s brow quirks again, obviously not expecting the serious change in conversation.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back before dipping his head down and quickly kissing her, nothing more than a slight move of lips against lips. “I’m going to go take my shower now, yeah? Before I get into any more trouble.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Killian winks before turning around and walking out of her bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him. Emma huffs, a little frustrated with that since she was kind of thinking about going back to sleep while Killian was showering. A few more minutes would make all the difference in the world, right?

“Emma,” David calls out, and Emma falls back into the mattress, “why don’t you come help with breakfast?”

She murmurs a curse under her breath before throwing the blankets off of her and shuffling out of her room and into the hallway to walk to the kitchen where her Dad is standing over the stove and her mom is sitting at a barstool, the two of them talking back and forth with each other.

“G’morning,” Emma mumbles before she switches the flip to turn on the coffee maker so she can get sweet, sweet caffeine in her system.

“Did we know Killian was coming over, darling?” Mary Margaret questions as the water for the shower turns on, the pipes heating for Killian in the bathroom at the same time that the coffee maker begins to gurgle. “I thought he wasn’t coming until Thursday because you requested that night off to spend time with him.”

Emma hums and reaches up into a cabinet to get a loaf of bread to make toast while she wishes that the coffee would hurry up. She can feel the lack of sleep in every inch of her.

Every. Single. One.

Killian had been so rattled when he came over, everything about him shaken, and she could tell before they even spoke. It’s why she handed him the glass of rum and the napkin with “I love you” written on it instead of asking what he wanted to drink, and it’s why she forced him to talk about it instead of letting him coerce her into bed without mentioning what was going on inside of that stubborn head of his. In the past, she definitely would have slept with him instead of trying to talk it out. She’s never been the best with words, things like that not coming naturally to someone who isn’t used to having to talk issues out with partners, but after being with someone for five years, a lot of that over the phone or through text, she’s learned some things.

After five years of being with someone whose entire family is pretty much at the top of the metaphorical list of top assholes for the world, she’s really learned how to talk out issues even if she’s not helping to find resolutions to them.

She’s had to deal with her fair share of assholes in her life.

To be fair, Elsa and Allison aren’t like the rest of them. Elsa, from what she can tell from videos online and stories Killian tells her, is a pretty reserved person who shies away from conflict even if her husband is directly involved. Killian says it has something to do with how she was raised and how she’s always felt far too responsible for her younger sister to ever do anything outrageous herself. Emma can’t really understand that since she’s an only child, but she also doesn’t care as long as she isn’t mistreating Killian.

Of course, Elsa and Allison could step up and say something about their asshole husbands, but it’s not Emma’s place to say that.

(Though she most definitely has in late night talks with her parents where she fumes and rants over the things that Killian shares with her.)

It’s not Emma’s place to say anything to them since she doesn’t know them, something she and Killian both decided would be best because of Killian’s relationship with his family and Emma’s spotted history. So she simply gets to hear Killian rant about his dad and his brother, going on and on about years of resentment and mistreatment, and all Emma can do is try to make him feel better, much like last night when she tried to convince him that his next little niece or nephew would not be treated how he was.

She can’t say that for sure, but most of her is nearly sure of it. Things have changed since Killian was young, and that will most likely be reflected in how Liam and Elsa raise their children. His family is more modern and is willing to bend on some outdated traditions. At least, Emma hopes so.

It doesn’t help Killian feel any better, though. His heart has been badly marked up, and those marks don’t simply go away. Instead they’re inked in worry lines on his face and in scratches on his heart.

“Nope,” she tells her mom. “He just showed up.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I mean - ” Emma sighs and taps her fingers against the granite countertop so that it makes a clicking sound. “It was family stuff again. I don’t think he really wants me to get into it, but he’ll be fine in time. He always is.”

“I hate that he doesn’t have a good relationship with his family. It reminds me so much of David and his brother for a few years, but I know it’s different with, you know, who his family is.”

Emma sighs. “He’s really appreciative of you guys. He talks about it all the time. I hope you know that. I appreciate it, too. You never had to take him under your wing because we’re dating, but you did.”

Mary Margaret turns and smiles at her, the wrinkles around her eyes only showing up the slightest bit. Emma swears that her mom is an ageless wonder, and she very much wants to look like her when she’s fifty. Hell, she wants to look like her now. “Well, we love him. That’s for sure, and I love that he treats you well. You deserve that.”

“I wasn’t always his biggest fan, you know,” her dad adds in, hitting his hip against hers. Emma rolls her eyes. “I did not want the two of you dating at first.”

“What?” Emma sarcastically gasps as she hits a button on the oven to preheat it. “I had no idea that you weren’t thrilled with me dating someone.”

“He was very smug, sweetheart,” David explains while an omelet sizzles on his pan and Emma has to move around him to get butter out of the fridge. “It took me awhile to get used to him.”

“You were a little bit overprotective, David,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“I was the perfect amount of protective.”

“You threatened him multiple times.”

“I was not threatening him. I was making sure that he didn’t break my daughter’s heart like the last bastard did.”

“Dad,” Emma starts, blush rising to her cheeks as she swipes butter over a piece of bread. “It’s not...we don’t have to talk about that right now. It’s not worth dwelling over.”

“That was a miserable experience. I can still be angry about it.”

Emma turns to the side and presses up on her toes to kiss her dad on the cheek. She can still be angry about it as well, but not today. “Let’s focus on the good this morning, okay? Like omelets and toast and yummy, yummy bacon.”

“That’s a wonderful plan, sweetheart.”

She and her dad move around each other as they cook breakfast, the small kitchen of the apartment not giving them much space. There’s not a lot that she misses about America, but she does miss their house and all of the space that was there for them to maneuver around each other. But like she told her dad, the past is in the past, and she doesn’t want to focus on any of that today.

Not at all.

By the time the coffee and the food are ready, they all move to the living room, settling plates and mugs down on the coffee table in front of them while Mary Margaret puts on one of her cooking shows that she likes to watch but never really cook recipes from. Emma can understand that. Killian wanders out of the hallway in jeans and a pullover, his feet only clothed in socks, and settles down on the couch next to her so that the cushions squish underneath his weight. He reaches forward to grab his mug of coffee before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and whispering thanks in her ear for making it the way that he likes it.

Killian is more of a tea person, but she’s slowly made him like both over the years.

“Thanks for cooking, Dave,” Killian tells her dad as he scoops up a section of his omelet. “Anything exciting happening with the pub tonight?”

“Not that I know of,” David mumbles with a mouthful of food. “I think it’ll likely be pretty quiet since it’s Monday. Not a lot of people come and drink on Mondays, which is a shame since Mondays deserve a drink or two.”

“Huh.” Emma adjusts herself on the couch while Killian taps his fingers against her shoulder. He smells like her body wash. “I’ve never really thought about that, but it is a good point. Monday does deserve a drink. Or, well, everyone deserves a drink for getting through Mondays.”

“That could be how you all advertise the pub.”

“Or alcoholism.”

“What about you, Killian?” her mom questions with her mouth covered by her mug. “Are you staying with us all day or do you have work?”

“Ah, work today, unfortunately.”

Emma twists to look up at Killian while she arches her brow. “What do you have to work on today?”

“I have a meeting for Kidding A Goal, love. We’ve got to figure out some more logistics for the opening event.”

“That’s great, babe,” she tells him, pressing up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “How long have you been working on founding that charity again?”

His ears blush red, embarrassment written all over them, and Emma smiles to herself. Killian has been working on his charity to help involve more children in athletics for years. Emma doesn’t know how many years, but it’s been in the works for almost as long as she’s known him. He wouldn’t make any of the plans official at first, too nervous that it wouldn’t actually do good, but it’s one of those things that Killian does where Emma can actually see his eyes light up when he talks about it.

Killian has his qualms about his life, all of them just, but he does good for others.

He is good, even if he doesn’t always believe it.

“A long while, but we don’t have to talk about it. I think I’d rather know what the hell this bloke is doing with his bread on this show.”

They all get caught up in watching the TV, the guy on there continuing to screw up in all of the most relatable ways, and it’s entertaining in a way that allows them all to get caught up in things for the next hour before her dad stands up and stretches before leaving to go take a shower. Killian grumbles about it being time for him to go as well, and Emma reaches over to wrap her arms around his waist to hold onto him for a moment longer before softly gliding her lips over his over and over again.

She’ll see him in a few days, something she’s more than used to, but in the back of her mind, Emma is worried over how Killian was last night, over his emotional state. She knows that he’ll be okay, but it doesn’t make it any easier to send him back to having to deal with his family when he struggles so much with them.

“I love you,” Killian whispers against her lips. “I’ll call you later to tell you how the meeting goes, aye?”

“Aye,” Emma says back, mocking his accent. “I love you, too.”

At that, Killian rises from the couch and kisses her once more before stepping over to her mom and kissing her cheek as he says his goodbyes. The front door shuts quietly behind him, and Emma falls back onto the couch, sinking into the cushions.

“It’s so nice to see you so in love, darling,” Mary Margaret gushes, and Emma wants to completely sink into the couch.

“ _Mom_.”

“It is. You two remind me so much of your dad and me. I remember when we were young and couldn’t keep our hands off of each other - ”

Emma’s cheeks burn, mortification working over all of her, and she’s just about to open her mouth to say something when there’s a booming commotion outside that has her jolting up from the couch walking across the apartment to look out the window. It takes her three seconds to realize what’s going on, the massive crowd of people carrying large cameras and holding microphones outside, and it takes her another two seconds to realize that every single thing about her life is about to change.

Holy shit.

No. It can’t be. It simply can’t.

_It can’t._

She’s going to vomit.

-/-

-/-

**June 1st, 2013**

“No, I’m serious,” Emma laughs, stacking a chair up on the table while Killian’s throwing darts against the dartboard. Normally she’d yell at him and make him help her clean up, but she’s welcoming the distraction of having him several feet away from her. They need to stay several feet apart, and then she won’t do anything stupid. Like kiss him. That would definitely be stupid, but she damn well wants to do it. “When I was learning how to ride a bike, I busted my ass so many times my dad bought me butt pads.”

“What the bloody hell is a butt pad?”

“What does it sound like? It’s literally cushioning for your ass.”

“You know, darling,” Killian croons, looking over his shoulder at her and winking, “you have a fantastic ass. It’s probably a good thing it was protected.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes all the while she stacks up more chairs. And she definitely ignores that way her stomach feels, the butterflies that are always present when Killian’s near her fluttering around in there like there’s no tomorrow. God, he makes her feel ridiculous, light and giddy really, and she finds his weird innuendos charming.

Okay, so she really loves his innuendos. And she can give as good as she gets. Maybe do better even.

Knowing him for the past three months has been quite the rollercoaster, and her head and her heart are definitely still at war as to whether or not they’ve been a good three months.

(They have. She’s just a coward.)

“Yeah, it’s too bad that no one slapped a helmet on you to protect that head of yours.”

“Why, Nolan? Are you saying that I have a pretty face that should be protected?”

“I’m saying I think some brain cells got knocked out along the way.”

Killian waggles his eyebrows, the insult not bothering him in the slightest, and goes back to throwing his darts. She can see the way his muscles move beneath his shirt, the tightness of the sleeves not helping at all, and her mind trails away from thoughts of the muscles he’s obviously hiding under his clothes and to the way his lips would feel against hers. It’s all she’s been able to think about for weeks now, and after she gave up pretending that she didn’t like him, that she _couldn’t_ like him, her thoughts about him have gotten…detailed.

But she can’t be with him. It’s not an option. It’ll never be an option. Yeah, they’re friends who flirt with each other all the damn time. That much she can’t deny, but who he is and who she is…those are things she can’t forget. And it’s only been a little over three years since Neal, and she swore that she wouldn’t seriously feel anything for any guy after that. Neal set the bar pretty low for a lot of reasons, and while she’s sure that there are better people out there than him…okay, while she _knows_ that there are better people out there than him, he left a hell of a scar.

He left multiple scars, and each of them still feels fresh.

It doesn’t help that she knows that Killian is a better man. In every way possible.

But it won’t work, she reminds herself. Their lives are so different, their upbringings miles (countries) apart. It doesn’t matter how well they get along, how much he makes her laugh and forget about all of the awful things she feels about her life sometimes. None of that matters when she knows she can’t be the type of girl who he dates, when she knows that she could never live up to the scrutiny of the world and of his family.

But maybe for tonight, she doesn’t care.

It’s probably reckless, but she really doesn’t give a damn. She just wants to let go and feel how she feels about him without being scared.

His jeans are really hugging the curve of his ass and his smile. God, his smile.

Killian’s just finished throwing his last dart, his hands free, and she marches over to him with a new determination in her step, immediately grabbing onto the collar of his shirt and roughly pulling him toward her, standing on the tips of her toes so that she can fuse her lips and her body into his and _kiss_ him.

She doesn’t know exactly what she imagined kissing Killian would be like – even though she sure as hell has imagined it in several different scenarios – but his lips are softer than she thought they would be, almost like he uses chapstick religiously, and they meld together with hers so perfectly that it takes her breath away. It must take his breath away too because he gasps into the kiss before his hands sink into her hair, gripping almost as tightly as she’s gripping his collar.

God, her hands might fall off.

This is perfect, and thinking it was just going to be for tonight was one of the most idiotic thoughts of her life. Emma wants to do this again and again until the feel of his lips is tattooed on her mouth.

Emma pulls back when she can no longer breathe, her lips slightly swollen and beard burn brushing across her skin all while she and Killian’s chests heave together, his heartbeat beating erratically just like hers. She’s about to say something, to explain herself, but then Killian gets an almost predatory look in his eyes and slams his lips back into hers, pushing her back so that she almost stumbles and falls.

Killian just goes for it, pulling her back into him while he sucks on her top lip. He can’t stop touching her, left hand running down her side, up under her shirt so that the warmth of his hand is covering her back, fingers dancing up her spine as his other hand makes its way back into her hair while a shiver runs down her spine with every tap of his fingers and movement of his lips. When she runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and simultaneously runs her tongue against his bottom lip, biting down on it with her teeth, Killian moans in a way that causes desire to shoot straight to her core, every other logical thought disappearing while Killian backs her across the room and into the bar, her back hitting the hard wood.

She doesn’t care. 

His tongue makes its way into her mouth, teasing the tip of her own. It’s wet and warm, and she can taste the beer he had earlier. Before she can stop herself, her hands slide into the small space between them, unbuttoning his shirt and running her hands across his collarbone and down the hair on his chest. She loves the hair on his chest. Now she can finally touch it.

And that’s when she hears it, hears the thing that clears her mind and brings her out of her cloud of lust.

That’s what this is, right? Lust.

Maybe it’s a bit more. It’s definitely more.

She pulls back before Killian does as the exaggerated cough continues. When she opens her eyes, she can see her dad staring at her from the hallway all the while Killian’s hard arousal pushes into her thigh.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

This is not happening. Her dad did not just walk in on this. He did not. It has to be a dream. It has to be. But then blue eyes are looking into her eyes while the rest of his body stays still, and she knows that this is all real. He looks destroyed, heady, and she hates that this is all about to come crashing down around them.

“Killian,” her dad grits out, voice strained as he obviously tries to keep his composure, something she’s heard from him more times than she wishes she had, “I suggest you wish Emma goodnight and make your way home.”

It’s a blatant dismissal of Killian, and she doesn’t know what to do. So she does what she’s always done. She stiffens her body, moving her eyes away from Killian and refusing to make eye contact with him even though she can feel the power of his gaze still on her. She hates herself right now, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

Killian obviously does, though, backing away from her, the loss of heat immediate, and he whispers, “goodnight, love,” before nodding to her dad and walking away, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Emma,” her dad scolds, stepping toward her while he rubs his hand up and down his face in frustration, “what the hell were you thinking?”

She huffs. She may still live with her parents, but she’s not a kid, hasn’t been for longer than she wishes were true. “That I’m an adult and don’t need your permission to kiss someone!”

Wow. She has never felt more like a petulant child despite her protests that she’s anything but.

“No, what were you thinking kissing Killian? He’s a nice guy, Emma. You know it. I know it. But he’s not someone who you can just mess around with. His life is not a normal life. He’s not just some guy you can date without consequences.”

“I know that,” she protests, sinking down on the ground. Her legs are shaky, her emotions rattled, and she doesn’t feel like having to stand and be yelled at for something that was making her happy. She was happy. It’s been so damn long since she felt that kind of thrill. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Sweetheart,” her dad soothes, moving to sit down next to her on the ground, his bones audibly aching with the movement, “you are capable of making your own decisions. You’re not a kid anymore who I can tell when to go to bed or that you need to brush your teeth, even though you and I both know you’ve been running the show since you were born. But I have seen you go through so much, have seen you have your heart broken in a way that no one should ever have to experience, so can you blame me that I’m concerned about this? Concerned about you? And Killian.”

“No, I can’t blame you. I…he makes me happy, and that _terrifies_ me.” She twists her hands in her lap while she stretches out her legs, knocking her ankle into her dad’s calf. “I promised myself I would never feel again, that I would never let myself like someone, and I’ve completely gone and screwed that up.”

“Emma,” her dad sighs as soon as she starts choking back a sob, immediately reaching over to her dad and wrapping her arms around his waist while she sobs into his shoulder, letting the tears fall without restraint. When David starts rubbing up and down her back, whispering soothing words in her ear, it only makes it worse. She can’t breathe, can’t think. All she can do is cry.

Why the hell is she sobbing like this?

This isn’t her. Or is it?

There’s no shame in crying, but she still hates it and the way it makes her feel. She shouldn’t be having this conversation with her dad. She should be shutting him out, shutting everyone out.

But she can’t seem to move away.

“Sweetheart,” her dad coos, continuing to rub his hand up and down her back, “shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. There’s nothing to cry over. Everything is fine. You’re fine. Shh, shh. Everything is fine, Emma.”

“H-how can you…how can you say that? You just yelled at me. Just kicked Killian out of here and told me that I can’t be with him.”

Could she be more pathetic? Honestly, Emma has to stop berating herself for having emotions, but she can’t seem to stop.

“I never said that. I just said that with Killian, you have to think about more than just how you feel. I wish that you could lead with your heart, my girl, but you have to think too. Killian is normal to us, but he’s not normal to the rest of the world. His entire life is viewable to the public. People follow him around and judge every move he makes. Think about how much we know about all of the women he’s dated before. And as fantastic as I think you are, as fantastic as I _know_ you are, people are not going to be kind to you with your past.”

“I wish it wasn’t this way. I wish I could just be with him if that’s what I want. I don’t even know if that’s what I want.”

“You can,” he promises, leaning down and kissing her forehead while she tries to regulate her breathing and tries to calm her heart. “If you are prepared to deal with the consequences and the risks, you can be with him. You might get your heart broken in an even more spectacular fashion than before, but sometimes love is worth it, kid. Love is something you have to fight for. It’s not given to you. It’s not handed on some kind of platter. It’s so damn hard, Emma, but love, when it’s right, is one of the most spectacular things in the world.”

She gulps, not knowing what to say. Her dad has always been great at this, at knowing what to say to her when she feels like falling apart, even when he’s one of the reasons she feels like falling apart. She doesn’t…she doesn’t love Killian. There’s no way that she could, not when she’s been holding herself back from him. But the spark, the smallest of flames that could be an inferno, it’s there.

And she wants it to stay. And grow.

“I don’t love him, Dad. I think I could, but I don’t know right now.”

“That’s the risk,” her dad tells her again, rubbing his arm up and down her shoulder before reaching up to wipe the tears from her face. “And my girl, I don’t know if he’s worth the risk, but I know that you are.”

-/-

-/-

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, and while Emma knows that her mother is walking toward her, she can’t focus on anything. The world around her has blurred, everything becoming shaky, and her legs can’t seem to decide on whether or not they want to collapse underneath her or help her run outside to help Killian who is inevitably being mobbed by everyone there...oh shit, Killian is being mobbed by all of those people. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

She opens her mouth to speak, the world still blurred but the sound of her mom’s voice allowing her to focus on at least one thing, but no words come out.

None at all.

Emma seems to be shocked silent, and her legs do go out on her so that she collapses against the wall and has to rest her back against the windowpane. Is her heart even in her chest anymore? She’s not entirely sure.

Maybe it would be better if it wasn’t.

“What the hell is that noise?” David questions as he walks back down the hallway and into the living room. “Emma, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“David,” Mary Margaret murmurs, and finally Emma can focus on the tense set of her mom’s jaw and the way she fiddles with her wedding ring. It’s what has her hand searching out for the sapphire ring that rests on her right hand. “Come here.”

“What is it, dear? Because I...shit,” he whispers underneath his breath, and it almost makes Emma laugh. Almost. She still can’t exactly breathe. And there’s the whole wanting to throw up thing too. “Mary Margaret, get Emma some kind of cold towel because I think she’s about to be sick. I’m going to go and try to get Killian. He doesn’t need to be going home when people are following him like this. Someone could get hurt.”

There’s a protest on Emma’s lips, something about David exposing himself to the world like that, but the words still aren’t coming. They aren’t coming, and her dad is already slamming shut the door to the apartment and running outside.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. How did this happen?

They’re so careful, always so careful, and things have worked for them for five years. No one has ever said anything. There have been no hints to anyone knowing, and she doesn’t understand how anyone could know now.

No one was supposed to know, not yet. They were eventually going to tell Killian’s family, but they were going to tell them first and deal with the fallout there before she was thrust into the world. That was going to be a nightmare, but it would be a private nightmare. This is extremely public.

Emma does not do well with any publicity, and she’s had enough of it for a lifetime.

This is an entirely new scale.

Slowly, she manages to get up. The room is still spinning around her, her legs still shaky, but she does manage to get up. It’s the first step, and she can take things one step at a time. That’s all she can focus on right now. If she thinks about anything else other than putting one foot in front of the other and making it to the kitchen, she’ll vomit until there’s absolutely nothing left in her body.

That omelet was too good for it not to stay in her stomach.

Her mom places her hands around Emma’s waist and helps her walk, even with Emma’s protests that she can do it herself, and as soon as she can, Emma turns on the faucet and splashes the cool water in her face. Most of it gets in her hair or on her shirt, but it’s the only thing that has made her feel better.

It’s too hot in this apartment. There’s no air. Her lungs are going to collapse.

“It’s going to be okay, darling,” her mom assures her while she rubs gentle circles into her back. “You’re going to be okay.”

“How can you even say that right now?”

“Because we’re not sure what’s even going on. This could be nothing.”

Emma lets out a sadistic chuckle and splashes her face with water again. “A bunch of people just showed up outside of our pub and are currently bombarding my dad and my boyfriend. They knew Killian was here. Somehow they knew.”

“That doesn’t mean that they know about the two of you.”

“There wouldn’t be that many people if they didn’t,” Emma groans, leaning forward to turn the water off and rest her forehead on the corner of the countertop. “They know. They have to know. We’re not...I’m not ready for this. I can’t do this.”

There’s another pat against her back. “You’ve never been ready for any of the obstacles thrown your way, and you’ve handled all of them.”

“Barely.”

The door to the apartment creaks open then, and Emma lifts her head at the noise, turning to see David and Killian walking back in. Killian’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes blown wide, and in some kind of move of desperation, Emma gains a little strength in her legs and rushes toward him, collapsing into his arms and holding onto the solidness of his body while he holds her up. She should be doing the same to him, but she can’t right now.

It’s been a long time since she felt this helpless, and Emma cannot stand to feel helpless. It reminds her of standing in the courtroom with the eyes of all of Storybrooke on her and gives her flashbacks to Neal and beady brown eyes that she once loved.

Now she’s drowning in a sea of blue and has arms to hold her above the water, but nothing seems to be helping.

“I’m sorry,” Killian starts, his breath hot against her ear while his whiskers tickle across her forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Words seem to escape her as her mind swirls, and she has to get it together. She has to. But she’s terrified of what is going to come next. She’s terrified because she doesn’t know. They were so dumb not to truly talk about it. They just had little conversations and snippets and meaningless conversations about it.

Someday.

Their word was always someday, and yet someday seems to be today.

Shit.

She’s probably going to break some kind of world record for how many times she can think the word “shit” in a five-minute span.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Killian repeats again as he rubs his hand up and down her back and she tightens her embrace. She hears a door shut behind her, and without looking, Emma knows that her parents have gone down the hallway into their bedroom to give them privacy, and as thankful as she is for that, she kind of wants her parents.

Who is almost twenty-six years old and still needs her parents like that? It’s pathetic.

But they’re so damn comforting and have been there for her through everything even when they haven’t always understood.

“I’m sorry, too,” she finally manages to choke out as she straightens her back and releases Killian’s waist to stand up next to him and take in his face a little more. His brows are furrowed, his lips pursed, and all of the worry lines that she usually soothes away are front and center. This is about to be really damn hard on him, and he wouldn’t have to go through it if it wasn’t for her. “This is my fault. I should have – we should have done better or something different or…how did we ever think that we could do this?”

Killian blinks at her several times before his hands grab onto her shoulder and run down the length of her arms, little shocks of electricity following the movement. “Because I met this charming woman in a pub, and I simply knew that I had to get to know anyone who was willing to tell me to get my ass out of a booth because she didn’t want me to mess up the material.”

Emma sniffles, still feeling like the most pathetic person in the world. She needs to get her shit together.

There’s that word again.

“You were really wet, and Mom is very protective about those booths.”

“Aye, I know, love.” Killian reaches up to tuck hair behind her ears. “I don’t – I don’t know what’s about to happen, Emma. It’s an uncertain future, and the only thing I’m sure of is that I will always, always be by your side.”

Emma nods her head and leans back into Killian just so that she can feel the steady pulse of his heart against her. “What did they say out there? How did they know you were here ?”

“I don’t know. They were shouting my name and then your name, and I couldn’t hear anything outside of that. Someone who comes to the pub could have said something. Someone I know could have said something, but the only person who knows is August in security, and I trust him more than most anyone. That wouldn’t...all I know is that somehow it leaked that I was here and that I am dating you and…I don’t think it matters how it got out right now. I’ll figure that out later. All that matters is that the information is out there. My parents are going to know within the hour, and I can guarantee that I am fucked.”

“I know, and I’m sorry and fuck.” Emma’s stomach drops again, and suddenly adrenaline is running through her. She moves away from Killian and runs down the hallway to her bedroom, moving the covers, blankets, and pillows off of her bed until she can find her phone where there are already several messages filling her screen.

**Ruby Lucas:** Do you want to go shopping for a dress with me for my date tonight?

**Ruby Lucas:** Oh, never mind. I’m going to wear the red one.

**Ruby Lucas:** Emma.

**Ruby Lucas:** Emma Blanchard Nolan.

**Ruby Lucas:** What the fuck am I looking at right now?

**Ruby Lucas:** Why are there pictures of an actual prince standing outside of your parents’ pub?

**Ruby Lucas:** And why do all of these reports say that you two are dating? Are you fucking Killian? Like, the most eligible man in all of England? And why don’t I know about it? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it?

**Ruby Lucas:** Like, what the actual fuck? You better have a damn good explanation for this.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Emma mumbles under her breath as her hand shakes while she rereads the messages.

She never told Ruby. Emma has been in love for five years, and she never told her best friend. She didn’t tell anyone. Neither did Killian. it was a secret they held close to their hearts, and the only people who knew were people who absolutely had to know. Guilt has festered in her stomach over this for years. There were so many times when Emma almost told Ruby and stopped lying to her, but she could never do it. It terrified her that Ruby would slip up and something would happen and…

Emma didn’t even trust her best friend to know something so damn important, and she has never felt like such a horrible person.

Today, she lost her privacy and most likely her best friend.

**Will Scarlet:** You and Jones are all over the news. I hope you’re doing okay, love. For what it’s worth, I never said a word about the two of you.

Emma can’t text Ruby back, but she can text Will back.

**Emma:** I know. Don’t bother coming into work tonight. I think we’re going to be closed.

“Swan, are you okay?”

Emma sits down on the edge of her bed before looking up at Killian as he enters her bedroom. She smiles at his nickname for her, one of his many, and it’s amazing how the world can be spinning around her in a harsh storm and yet she looks at Killian and suddenly everything feels calm.

For a moment.

She could still throw up.

“No,” she admits as her stomach heaves and she has to put her head down in between her knees. “Ruby knows, Killian. She knows. There’s no way she’s ever going to forgive me, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I shouldn’t have – I’m spiraling a little bit, and I don’t know how to make it stop for more than a few seconds. This is my worst nightmare, and I feel so selfish because obviously you’re hurting too and I…”

“Hey,” he starts, his accent heavy with emotion, “I’m going to be okay. I feel like I could lose my breakfast, but I’m going to be okay. I’m used to the eyes of the world being on me, and I’m used to my family being asses. It’s not about to be easy for me, but I have a lifetime of preparation for things like this. At the end of the day, I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re okay.”

“That’s not how you should think.”

“But it’s exactly how I do think.”

“Well, that is certainly fucked up.” She looks up then, forcing another smile onto her face, and she could really use Killian making one of his awful jokes right now or flirting with her so much that her entire face turns as red as a tomato.

“All I’ve cared about for a long time is making sure that you’re alright, love.”

“You’ve done a damn good job at it.”

He shrugs, and the smile on his lips is forced too. Killian opens his mouth as if he is about to say something else, to make some kind of joke that she’s hoping for, but then his face falls and he’s pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

Good things are not coming from either of them checking their phones.

“What?” she asks nervously when he’s still staring down at the device.

Killian looks up at her with eyes full of sadness. “It’s my father. He knows.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say thank you enough to all of the wonderful people who helped this story come to life...again. I know it's pretty much a horrible time everywhere, so for those of you who read this to escape for a little while, I hope it brings you joy❤️
> 
> And I hope you're checking out all of the other rewrite-a-thon stories as well! There's some great stuff out there!

**May 15th, 2018**

Gold framed portraits and antique paintings fill the high walls, nearly reaching the ornate ceilings and chandeliers. Plush carpet sinks under his feet as Killian walks down a hallway that he’s walked down more times than he can count. They lead him from public parts of the palace to his family’s private living quarters, and while the private quarters may have been a safe haven for him in the past, right now he’d rather roam the hallways full of history and get lost in it all like he once did as a child when anything seemed possible.

He’s not a child anymore. He’s twenty-eight, has experienced a hell of a lot of life, and hiding underneath a table isn’t going to save him from his problems.

Who ever thought that being in love would cause so many problems?

Killian almost laughs at himself for thinking that when he can think of far too many examples of times when love caused more issues than it ever should, but there’s something about being caught up in his own head that keeps him from being rational.

It’s been years since he’s been this terrified over talking to his father. It’s been since Milah and everything that happened there with the articles and publicity and downfall. That was the last time he was truly shaken to his core over talking to his family.

And he wasn’t scared of losing her because of some inane rule or expectation of who he is and who the woman he marries should be.

Losing Emma or her hurting any more than she already is hurt is unthinkable. She was trying not to show how broken she is inside over everything, but he could see it in the shine in her eyes and the consistent tapping of her leg when they were sitting together.

It’s been two days since it all happened, and the only thing Killian could think to do to protect Emma and her family was to tell them to stay away from the internet, to not use their phones or their laptops and to simply take the time and spend it together reading or cleaning the pub since it’s closed down for awhile as reporters camp outside of it.

Fuck.

Emma’s family is losing their source of income because of him and his family. He was never supposed to let her down like this and never supposed to let it impact Emma the way it has. He doesn’t know how this happened, how someone discovered him at the pub, but they did.

(He intends to find out the “how’s” of it soon, but there’s not time for that now.)

The past and hiding it all away came back to haunt them, and Killian is about to have to face the lion’s den for it while simultaneously holding the entire damn circus back from encroaching on Emma’s life.

Killian would give anything to go back to his family and the world not knowing he was dating someone, but he knows he can’t. Emma is now the subject of media speculation, scrutiny, and vicious attacks on her past that Killian can’t stop from happening. The worst thing is that he knows it’s only just begun. Any woman he’s ever been involved with has been put through some kind of hell, but the vast majority have wanted the speculation and the attention. They’ve wanted to be with him because of who he is and what his notoriety can do for them.

And not one of them has experience with the media in the way that Emma does.

At least, on a small scale.

-/-

-/-

**June 8th, 2013.**

Emma kissed him.

It was three days ago, but she kissed him.

He felt her lips on his, the softness and glory of finally being able to kiss the woman he’s harbored feelings for, and there’s not been a word between them since.

He doesn’t visit. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t even text. He cannot count the times he’s picked up his phone to text Emma to ask her how her day is going. But he doesn’t. And the smallest part of him thinks that maybe she’ll make the first move, maybe she’ll text him or call him, but he knows that she can be skittish, especially with men. He doesn’t know what happened in America, but he knows it wasn’t pleasant.

But she was the one who kissed him. She was the one who instigated this new side to their…relationship? Friendship? He’s not really sure what they are, but they may not be anything anymore. Getting interrupted by David obviously triggered something inside of her, something that upset her, so as much as it’s killing him not to reach out, he’s going to give her some space.

He’s flying to Ireland for some official engagements with his mother, and hopefully it will keep his mind occupied as he stands in suits and shakes hands. It was supposed to be Brennan going with him, but plans changed at the last minute. People seem to love the combination of he and his mother on official visits, which is good, as she’s the only person in the family who he can be with for several days.

They’re on their third day of the visit, and it hasn’t been as bad he thought it would be. Since it’s just Killian and Allison, things are not always overly formal and regulated. Today they get to work with a local private school, and he knows that while most of it will be talking to city officials, he’ll get to spend time with children, talking with them about their interests and maybe playing a little football out in the school yard.

It’s one of the best days he’s had in awhile, and he’s glad to help brighten those kids’ days. That’s always been his favorite thing to do when he’s working. It’s what he’s passionate about.

Selfishly, though, working has kept his mind off of Emma and the dalliance they shared, so when they take their flight home that evening, he thinks he may just close his eyes and relax, forgetting about every trouble that’s been plaguing him.

“Your father wants you to meet someone.”

His eyes snap open, head turning sharply to face his mum. She’s sitting in her seat reading the book in her lap like she didn’t speak. “I’m sorry, what?” His voice is harsher than necessary, more brash than it ever should be when he speaks to her.

“He wants you to meet someone,” she repeats, voice nonchalant as she continues to flip through her book. It’s cold, and it’s not the mother he knows. “Brennan has a few options for you that he’s selected. He thinks it’ll be good for your image.”

Options. As if these women aren’t people and are simply objects for him to choose from.

“My image,” he spits out, his blood suddenly going cold. “I’m not dating some poor girl Dad’s picked out just because he thinks it’ll be good for my fucking image –”

“Killian,” she scolds, interrupting him and finally looking up from her book.

“We’re alone, Mum,” he groans out, running his hands through his hair. _Fucking options_. “And there’s nothing wrong with my bloody image.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring at him with no emotion in her eyes. “Your father thinks it will make you more appealing to the public. To have a serious girlfriend rather than all those girls you ran around with at Cambridge.”

“No.”

To hell with what his father thinks. He’s not doing that. No fucking way.

“Killian.”

“No, Mum. End of story.” He refuses to acknowledge that this conversation is happening, that he’s having to refuse “dating” a girl just for his bloody _image_. “And next time Dad sends you to do his dirty work, say no. You’ve always treated me better than this. Don’t start now.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the plane ride, and luckily, it’s a short distance. They get into separate cars once they land, and Killian kisses Allison’s cheek before they part. He may be pissed, but he knows it’s not her. It’s his father.

Without thinking, he tells his driver to take him to The Swan’s Feather. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spoken in several days. It doesn’t matter that she probably won’t talk to him when he walks in the door. He needs to feel normal for a minute. Mostly, Killian needs to see her.

It’s been a long time since he sought comfort in another person, but the need to see Emma is something that burns within him until his throat closes up.

He was right in thinking that she wouldn’t speak to him because she doesn’t even look at him, doesn’t acknowledge his presence after the initial wide-eyed stare from her spot behind the bar. So he slides into an unoccupied booth in the corner, shedding his suit jacket and tie, trying to make himself look as un-prince-like as possible. Apparently, it doesn’t work because not fifteen minutes later, Emma’s tossing a Yankees baseball cap on the table in front of him and adjusting the lights to dim the room.

She tells him to put it on, but that’s all. No more communication from there.

Killian will wait it out. He needs to talk to her, even if it’s just to get some type of closure, whatever that would be. He doesn’t want closure, but it would make sense for him to continue to lose the good things in his life.

A quarter past ten, he sees her talking to Mary Margaret behind the bar, and he can tell that the conversation is verging on heated as both women are talking animatedly with their hands. It makes him feel almost normal, seeing a child and parent having a disagreement, like what happened to him earlier is the same as what’s happening now, but he knows that it’s not. The subject matter is sure to be different, and the mother doesn’t look emotionless and uncaring like his did.

The woman on the plane was not the mum he has grown accustomed to.

When Emma throws her arms to her side, slapping the skin of her thighs, he knows that whatever the discussion was about, Emma ended up on the losing side.

And then she’s making her way over to him, scowl on her face and nose scrunched up in the way that it always does when she’s frustrated over one of their conversations.

“Upstairs,” she hisses under her breath. “We need to talk.”

“I’ve found when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

“Shut up and follow me.”

A part of Killian doesn’t want to follow because he knows this isn’t her idea. It’s obviously Mary Margaret’s, but he’s not a fool, at least about this. If she’s telling him to follow, he sure as hell isn’t staying in this booth.

Before he can control his limbs, Killian’s scrambling after her. He’s already always chasing after this woman, and he knows that he’d chase after her to the end of the world, or time.

When they get to the flat, David is sitting at the kitchen table, glasses perched on his nose as he goes over what Killian assumes to be the pub’s finances, and he doesn’t even look shocked to see Killian there, just nods his head in greeting. He honestly thought he may be murdered the next time he walked in the door, whether that be by Emma or David, and his cheeks flush red, face heating up at the thought of when he was last here.

He nods his head back at David, thinking of saying something but deciding against it when Emma walks down the hallway into the door he knows is her room.

_Always chasing this woman._

When he gets to the room, she’s shuffling through a dresser drawer, so he takes the opportunity to look around. It’s simply decorated, fluffy white comforter adorning her bed with a frankly insane amount of gray and lilac throw pillows scattered across it, some having tumbled onto the floor. She’s got a desk in the corner, picture frames of she and her parents and who he assumes are some of the friends she’s told him about. The desk seems to mostly be a place for her to just toss her dirty clothes, and he smiles because that’s just quintessentially Emma, messy and organized all at once.

He’s distracted by the collection of hats she has hanging on her wall, and he realizes the Yankees hat he’s got on must be hers, but then she’s talking to him, throwing a chain with a pendant attached at him and assuming he’ll catch it.

He does.

“What’s this, love?” Killian runs the cool metal through his fingers, spending extra time on the circular pendant that honestly just looks like the hook of a keychain, trying to figure out why she’s handed (thrown) this to him

Emma doesn’t reply. She sits on her bed, grabbing a pillow to cradle against her stomach and nodding her head at him to sit in the desk chair.

He takes the hint, the obvious one about sitting in the desk chair and the more subtle one about him not sitting next to her.

“I’m going to talk,” she begins, voice completely even and void of emotion, “and you’re going to listen. No interruptions. Got it?”

The stare she gives him is so intense, green eyes piercing into him, that he can’t do anything but nod and say, “Aye.”

“God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair, pulling it out of the braid she had it in. He thinks maybe she’s changed her mind, that she’s not going to say whatever she had planned on, but then she releases a strong sigh, squaring her shoulders as if she’s preparing for battle. Maybe she is.

“When I was sixteen, I started dating this guy, Neal. Horrible, God awful asshole. But I didn’t think that at first. I thought he was…everything. We dated for a couple of months. Everything’s going great. I’m young and in love, and it’s everything I thought life should be. Until it isn’t.”

Emma takes another deep breath, seemingly still gearing herself up for this, and Killian wonders if he’s stopped breathing as his heart pounds between his ears.

“And then one day, I’m riding my bike home from school thinking that I’d just aced my pre-calculus quiz, which I was super proud of because I sucked at pre-calculus and worked really hard for that quiz. Anyways, I’m happy and can’t wait to tell my parents, but when I ride up to the house, there are cop cars in front of it. Immediately I think something is wrong, that my parents are hurt, and I dry heave in the bushes before I even get a chance to get inside.”

She’s not looking at him now, just staring at the ceiling as she speaks.

“And obviously you know they’re fine because they’re right out there, so it wasn’t them. Turns out the cops were there for me.” Emma laughs bitterly, and it’s something he never expected to hear from her, for her laugh to sound that tainted. “Apparently my asshole of a boyfriend was trying to fence some watches, and he framed me for stealing them. Which, you think wouldn’t work since I didn’t commit the fucking crime, but it did because he had given me one of those watches for my seventeenth birthday a few days before. I had stolen goods on me, which doesn’t exactly scream innocence.”

Killian has felt plenty of anger in his lifetime, plenty of resentment toward others despite his privileged life, but he’s never wanted to punch someone – repeatedly – as much as he wants to punch this asshole. His blood is running hotly through his veins, and the story isn’t finished. He clenches his jaw, and he knows Emma noticed the tick of it. She always does. But he doesn’t care. She should know he’s angry about this because he cares about her.

“So, I get hauled into the station, am smart enough to know not to say anything, but I get processed, get a mugshot taken, and put in a jail cell, the whole nine yards. I’m still a minor at this point, so my charges aren’t super trumped up, and my parents can get me out on bail pretty quickly. We didn’t – still don’t – have a lot of money, but I obviously needed a lawyer because I wasn’t about to go to fucking jail, so we had to hire one, pretty much blowing out my college savings, not that I was too worried about going to college at this point.”

She pauses, taking another deep breath before she keeps going. He wants to hold her, to comfort her, but he knows that isn’t what she wants from him.

“I have to go through this whole process, and there’s not much I can do but say that I didn’t do it. Neal skipped town, and it’s not like even if he hadn’t, he would have told the truth. He set me up like that on purpose. My lawyer wanted me to take a plea deal, to say I’m guilty and go to jail for eleven months, and I really did think about it. I just…I didn’t commit the crime, you know? I didn’t want to have to give up my life just because I made the bad decision of dating the wrong guy.”

She’s crying now. She’s trying to hide it, but there’s no mistaking the shake in her voice, the quiver in her lips. Emma Nolan doesn’t like for others to see her be weak, and she’s showing her soul to him.

What has he done to deserve this kind of honor?

What did Emma do to deserve this bastard in her life who would do something like this to her? He imagines not a thing. Life is cruel, and we’re all at its mercy.

“And just to cut the story short…” There’s that bitter laugh again, but this time it’s mixed with tears. “I go to trial, and I’m found not guilty. I’m not found innocent. Apparently, that’s a thing. You can be proven not guilty, but you can’t be proven innocent. The jurors were sympathetic enough to believe me, to believe that there was no reason for me to steal all of those watches and then sell them because I came from what they considered to be a good family. But really, I know it’s because they couldn’t trace the money back to me, so they didn’t have enough evidence to prove me guilty.”

“So that chain you’re holding,” she nods at his hand, and he grips the cool metal more tightly, like he can squeeze her bad memories away, “that’s the first gift Neal ever gave me, and while I don’t wear it anymore, I use it to remind me that people can hurt you, even if you trust them. So, I usually don’t trust them.”

This entire time, behind listening to her story, behind finally understanding a little bit more about who this Emma Nolan is, he’s wondered why she’s suddenly felt the need to tell him this, to trust him with this despite the fact that she just said she doesn’t trust people.

But Killian gets it now. This is about him. He’s just not sure how.

“Emma, I – ” he starts, not really sure what to say, how to make this better.

“Don’t.” She got her hand held up, palm blocking him from looking at her.

“I don’t understand what I did to break your trust.” The words spill out of his mouth despite her warnings, and he’s not even a little bit sorry. He needs to know what’s happened between their kiss and her father finding them, because it can’t just be the fact that David walked in on them. “Tell me so that I can fix it, so that I can be worthy of you sharing that piece of you with me. I know you enough to know that you wouldn’t share your story with anyone.”

“Killian,” she breathes out, and she just sounds so incredibly sad, bottom lip quivering even as she brings it between her teeth to make it stop, “you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s – it’s who you are and the family you belong to.”

Emma didn’t physically slap him, but it feels like it, the sting reverberating through him like her hand had made contact with his face and not just her words sinking into his chest, making a place there and darkening his heart to the world just a little more. He thought he’d finally found a place where they accepted him for who he is without all of the attachments.

Killian can’t be here anymore. Fuck closure. He doesn’t need it. Killian stands from the desk chair and walks toward the door, his mind cloudy with his own self-indulgent thoughts instead of thoughts of everything Emma has told him. Just as he’s reaching her bedroom door, ready to walk out and never come back even if it breaks him, she’s grabbing his arm.

Fuck. He’s not at all helping with her fears, and as awful as she made him feel, he knows that he can’t hurt her. He’s already in too deep.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she pleads, and he still refuses to look at her any more than he has to. “Killian, you know I don’t care about any of that, that my family doesn’t care about any of that. It’s not about you, I swear. It’s about me not being good enough for you.”

Well, that’s got his attention. And as he finally snaps his eyes down to her, Killian sees that she’s let the dam break, and her face is pale and streaked with tears.

“Oh, love, no,” Killian sighs, wiping the tear tracks underneath her eyes with the pads of his thumb before cradling her face in his hand. She reacts almost instantly, nuzzling her cheek into his palm. “How could you even think that you’re not good enough for me?”

“Killian,” she sniffles, tears still pooling in her eyes, and he’s not quite sure how they’ve gotten here. There’s no shame in crying, but Killian knows that Emma hates it. “You’re a fucking prince, an actual, literal Disney movie prince. And it’s like I can forget about it when you’re here, when you’re with me. But then when my dad interrupted us that night –”

“I’m sorry about that, Swan.” He gives her a smile to tell her he’s not sorry about that, not sorry about kissing her at all, and it brings just the tiniest of upturns to her lips. Maybe that’s because of his nickname for her too.

“ – when Dad walked in on us,” she continues, face schooled to try and hide her emotions. It doesn’t work. “I realized that we can never be together. I don’t know why I thought we could in the first place. I guess, like I said, I forget. You’re always just Killian to me. And then after you left, I had to sit down with my dad, and I swear for a second we were going to have the sex talk, but we didn’t.”

He lets out a little chuckle at that, probably the first light moment he’s had since this morning in Ireland. “What was the talk about, love?”

“You,” she admits, backing away from him again. “Dad likes you. Don’t get confused on that. But he made me sit and really think about what would happen if I were to date you. All of the press and lack of privacy and the judgment from random people on the street, let alone the approval, or more likely disapproval, of your family. And I know you think that no one cares about you because you’re not the ‘heir to the throne’ or whatever, but Killian, people love you. You’re on the news all of the time for good, positive things. And if you were to date me, you’d be seen as the prince who dated the American criminal. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t actually do anything. People can find that information and the mugshots and the newspaper articles that were written about me. And I just know any of my old boyfriends would talk to the press about how I am ‘in the sack’ or something else ridiculous.”

“I don’t bloody care, Emma.”

“But you should.”

He can’t think like this, with all of the emotions running through his head. This is too much, and all he wants is for life to be just a little bit simpler, to be able to kiss the girl he likes and not have to think twice about it.

“We’ll date in secret,” he blurts out, ideas suddenly bouncing through his mind like a tennis ball in a fifty-shot rally. “We’ll see each other in complete privacy, Emma. No one has to know. Just you and me and your parents since you live with them. It’ll be damn frustrating, but it can be done while we try to figure out if there’s something between us. I believe that there is.”

She doesn’t respond, just kind of stares at him like she’s in shock, moving to sit back down on her bed. He follows, obviously, grabbing her hands because he just can’t handle not being able to touch her anymore.

“Emma, it’ll work. I swear to you.”

He has no idea how this could work, but he’s got to try.

She still doesn’t say anything, but he’s not nervous. He knows she’s just processing things.

“Okay,” she sighs out, and it’s not in agreement. She’s trying to work through something. “I’m not saying anything or pressuring you into anything because I’m only twenty, and, like, we’ve kissed once, but what happens if against all odds, we make it? And you decide something crazy, like that I’m the one for you? Because I just don’t see this ending in anything other than heartbreak for me, Killian. So I need you to understand that I’m literally putting my heart in your hands.”

“We’ll figure it out when…if we get to it, yeah?”

She’s still got the small smile on her face, a timidly hopeful expression, and when Emma nods her head in agreement, he knows that he must look like the Cheshire cat.

But he doesn’t care because he’s leaning into her, something he’s craved for days, and instead of kissing her fiercely, he lightly presses his lips against hers, a soft beginning to this thing that he’s positive is going to work out. He’ll make sure of it.

-/-

-/-

Emma’s been through the ringer before, and while logically Killian knew it would happen again, they were supposed to have time to prepare for it. She’s worked so hard to overcome her past, and it’ll come back, flashed on every front page and every television screen just because she loves him.

What a cruel price to pay.

How did the two of them ever think they were going to figure this out?

_He can’t protect Emma anymore._

Before Killian knows it, he’s standing in front of the set of doors that will allow him to walk into his family’s informal dining room, and it takes every ounce of strength in him not to turn around and run away. It’s time to face the firing squad.

Maybe an actual firing squad would be better.

He’s a melodramatic fool.

Sure enough, so is his family, because when he pushes open the doors, they’re all sitting there, hands clasped on the table. It’s like something out of a fucking Bond film. How much alcohol is too much alcohol for eleven in the morning?

The conversation that was happening obviously stopped the moment he opened the door, the silence that’s suffocating the room now a sure sign of it, and it makes Killian stomach roll as he slowly walks toward the table and takes his spot next to Liam and across from his mother. Nothing is said, just smiles in greeting, and the silence stays as salads are brought out and placed in front of each of them.

There’s no Elsa or Alexander here, no friendly buffer to make things a little easier, and if Killian didn’t know that Elsa was one of the sweetest souls to ever live, he’d almost think that she was avoiding this lunch on purpose. In actuality, he knows that she’s sick to her stomach with morning sickness.

For a minute, he almost believes this is just going to be a silent lunch, but he’s obviously been lulled into a false sense of security. When his mother looks at him, he can see the “I’m sorry” already flashing in her eyes.

“Killian,” Brennan begins, placing his knife and fork down so that the silver clanks together in a screeching sound, “I know you know why I called you and asked you to be here on a day where we wouldn’t normally be dining together.”

He doesn’t respond, just levels his father with an emotionless stare. What is there to say to the biggest wanker in the world?

“We think this woman you’ve been seeing, whoever she is…Well, if she was worthy of being in the family, we would know about her. We would probably have known her and her family for decades. You wouldn’t do all of this foolish, secretive dating that’s blown up in the media over the past two days. It’s been an absolute nightmare for us, and we haven’t even truly begun to dive into things since I have been working with my patronages.”

“This isn’t the 1800’s,” Killian spits out. “I don’t have to be with someone who’s my fourth cousin or something ridiculous like that. There’s no law forbidding me from marrying who I want. Everyone in this room has married for love. Why should I be any different?”

“Marriage,” Liam bellows out, a deep chuckle emanating from his throat that sends a shiver down Killian’s spine, “who the bloody hell said anything about marriage? You’re obviously not going to marry this girl you’ve kept hidden away. If she was worth it, you’d have told us so we could vet her like we’re having to do now. I’m sure this is simply another one of your flings.”

“Do not talk about her that way,” Killian seethes, trying to keep his voice calm even if Brennan and Liam don’t deserve it. “And yes, I intend to marry her. I’ve kept her ‘hidden away’ as you said, not because she’s something to be ashamed of. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Killian.”

“Don’t be a ponce, Father.” He’s going to get through this, and he’s going to get through this without giving them any more of his dignity. “And yes, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me, but she wanted to keep her life private. I wanted to respect that.”

“If she wanted to keep her life private, she should have never gotten involved with you. Every other woman you’ve been with has known that they were going to be seen in public spaces. Most of them completely craved it. Remember Milah?”

While Brennan is objectively right, it’s not that simple, and Killian feels another pang of guilt in his heart over the stab of pain from Brennan’s words. This is his fault. Emma once told him that she was putting her heart in his hands, and he never should have taken it, never should have put her through what he’s about to have to put her through.

“I agree,” Killian hesitantly admits, trying not to grind his teeth together, “but we were young, and I stupidly believed there would be a solution to keep her away from the public eye.”

“Darling,” his mum starts, a compassionate smile on her face, and he almost forgot she was there, “you said you were young. How long have you been dating her?”

“Five years,” he answers without hesitation, and for the first time in hours, he smiles.

Only momentarily, however.

He’s had eyes on him his entire life, from his family to the press to children at school, but he has never felt so scrutinized. He has never felt such an intensity of stares until this very moment, three pairs of eyes seemingly staring into his soul.

It’s silent for what feels like hours, just the sounds of the birds outside and the clock ticking in the corner of the room, and then the sound of his mother’s sobs fill his ears, his head snapping to look over at her. She looks so incredibly small, frail even at her age of fifty-eight, and he’s put too many people through pain today, just for being born into this family.

Privilege comes with a price.

Neither his father nor his brother move to comfort his mother, to embrace her, to wipe the tears off of her face, but he can’t be that cold, can’t be that uncaring. So he gets up from his chair, legs scratching against the hardwood floor, and pulls her up and into his arms, running his hands over her back and tangling his fingers into her long red hair as he whispers his apologies.

If he had to have told anyone before this all blew up, it would be his mother. For all of her flaws and her loyalty to his father, she would have understood.

“Damn you,” Allison snaps, voice still shaky from her tears but not lacking the conviction her words were meant to portray. “Damn you Brennan for making our son feel like he cannot share that he’s been in love for the past five years. After all that I’ve heard from the two of you about this family and how you wish things were different…you and Liam are the very reason it’s still the same with your judgment and your inability to understand that not everyone will fall into your perfect image of what our life should be like. Damn you.”

“Allison,” his father begins, voice completely stable as he tries to talk down his wife, “you know it’s not that simple.”

“Don’t, Brennan,” she hisses, voice quiet but hand raised to tell him to stop talking, “we’re figureheads. Figureheads that can do good just by people liking us, and if people knew how we’ve raised our sons…well, I imagine they wouldn’t like us very much anymore.”

Killian can’t quite believe what’s happening, that this is happening. His mother has always been his supporter but never like this. She’s always let what she wants and what she thinks fall behind his father and Liam. She embodies strength to him, but she rarely shows it, keeping it hidden away like it’s something shameful.

It’s not.

“So I suggest,” she continues, her voice the same tone as when he was younger and hadn’t done his schoolwork, “that you stop being such damn idiots and let Killian live his life.”

“This girl is not appropriate for the Crown,” Liam sighs out, rubbing his temples like this actually matters to him. When has he ever cared about Killian? “She works in a pub. She has a criminal past. There are a million reasons why she would never work in this family. I was raised knowing that the woman I married would have to be someone respectable who was right to serve as an important figure in this family. If I was held to that expectation, why is it not the same for Killian?”

Bullocks.

“It’s a funny thing,” Killian darkly chuckles as his thumb runs over the edge of his glass, “all my life I’ve been treated as nothing more than the spare to your heir, and the one time I actually, truly am okay being treated that way so that I can be with the woman I want to be with, you act as if I’m going to be the next bloody King of England and not fourth in line in a time where we don’t truly matter. So, please, go on living that way. Just fuck off and let me live my own life. I promise I’ll do nothing to embarrass you since I know that’s all you’re truly worried about. ”

“Killian,” Brennan placates, but Killian has no time for placations, “you know it’s complicated. How we present ourselves to the public is what keeps us living this life. You are one of the most heavily photographed people in the world. You of all people should know that even the slightest misstep leads to fallout. We’re only in the beginning of this fallout now.”

“And you think that this, me finding love, is a _misstep_?”

“I think it’s not about that and you know it.”

“Then what exactly is it about?” Killian spits out as his fingers curl around the edge of the table. “I’m not blind to the media coverage of me. I’m not blind to the scandals I’ve caused. How could I be? I’m constantly reprimanded for things that I did when I was younger that weren’t even true. I’m constantly punished for a woman I loved betraying me and leaving me heartbroken. But I’m also not blind to the fact that out of everyone in this family, I have the most influence among people my age, and the people my age are the ones who we’re always trying to get the approval from. So I don’t quite understand what your issue is when this family has survived hundreds of scandals far worse than someone being in love.”

“The issue is with you being with someone who has a murky past.” His father isn’t looking at him as he speaks. Instead he’s staring at the painting on the wall behind Killian’s head. At least he has the decency to be slightly ashamed. “We haven’t even finished our background checks into her, so who knows what other kind of potential scandals could be lurking, as if the ones we know about aren’t bad enough. She was arrested. She’s a thief.”

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m following centuries of protocol.”

“Maybe you could forget protocol and be a good fucking father for once.”

The room delves into a deep silence at the venom in Killian’s voice and the implications behind his words. It’s the kind of silence where you can only hear the breathing of the person beside you. The kind where silence isn’t really silence because the sound of your heart beating and the sound of your mind thinking are so loud, like drums beating in between your ears.

There have been very few times in his life where he’s been stunned silent, especially by his own words. He suddenly feels queasy, like there needs to be another shoe that’s going to drop, like he’s not actually going to get out of this and get his happy ending, in some type of cliché fairytale type of way.

In some type of _I love you, will you marry me and spend the rest of your life with me_ type of way.

But a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, and he’ll never stop fighting for Emma and their future.

“I’m going to go talk to Emma,” Killian tells his father and Liam, standing from his chair, “and the two of us are going to decide what to do together as the world goes to shit around us. I’m not even entirely sure of what’s happening in the media right now, but I know it’s not good. And then, God willing, if she agrees to let her entire life be on a serving platter more than it already is, I’ll let you meet her. And then after you’ve already met this beautiful, intelligent, wonderful woman, you still have a stick up your ass, well, I won’t bloody care what the lot of you think.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Killian.” Liam is staring at him with wide blue eyes that almost mirror his own, just a little more gray reflected in them, a little more darkness than light.

“Don’t be so stuck in the past, Liam. I love her, and if I have to, I will remove myself from this family to be with her.”

There are a million things that still need to be said, a million things that he wants to say and hash out and scream to the ceiling, but he’s tired. Killian is tired, and all this lunch has done is cause him to run in circles fighting a battle that he’s mostly likely never going to win.

And much like he’s always wanted to do but never had the courage, he walks away. He’s going to take charge of his life for the first time in a long time, and he hopes that Emma will agree.

Whatever happens with them is as much up to her as it is to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a lot of new stuff to take in, wasn't it? Things are going to keep unfolding!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone ever dreaded meeting in-laws? No, just me 😉 
> 
> Kidding, kidding...kind of. Well, Emma is going to meet some people, and she is *not* looking forward to it!

**May 17th, 2018**

“Where’s the paint for the main walls, Nolan?”

“In the storage closet.”

“I bloody well know that, lass,” Will huffs, turning around to look at her even if she’s still staring down at her phone wishing and willing a text to come in. “What color is it? You’ve got fifteen different brown and gray paints, and I don’t know which one to paint the walls.”

“Tiki Hut.”

“What the hell is a Tiki Hut?”

“It’s a house that’s - ”

“I know what a Tiki Hut is. I’m asking how is that a paint color?”

Emma looks at the blank screen of her phone, a picture of she and Killian standing in the snow in Switzerland the only thing there, and she resigns herself to the fact that she’s not going to be getting the texts she’s waiting for.

These have been the longest two days of her life, and she’s over them.

“They name them weird things, I guess. I don’t know. It’s just how it is. Do you need me to get the rollers?”

“Well, I didn’t push my way through the massive crowd outside on a day where I’m not going to be making any tips just for you to sit on your ass and stare at your phone waiting for Killian to call you.”

“Asshole.” Emma gets up from her stool and leans over the counter to grab a bottle of rum and a small glass, filling it a little higher than she should before chugging most of it down until there’s a pleasant burn itching its way down her throat. “You’re the one who volunteered to come in today to help even though you know we’re not open. You don’t have to be here, and you don’t have to be an ass when I’ve already got enough shit going on.”

Will turns from the storage closet, a gallon of paint in hand, and his thick brows are raised to the top of his forehead, eyes widening with the movement. “I didn’t mean to make you cross with me, love. I was teasing. I always tease you. That’s how we work. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yeah, well,” she scoffs as she slams the glass down and gets up to go find the paint rollers, which she knows are for some reason in the cabinet with the paper towels instead of the maintenance closet, “I said I’m fine.”

Emma tosses a foam roller at Will. He easily catches it, but he doesn’t seem to move to start painting or do any of the touch-up work that they’re supposed to be doing since they’re not opening the pub today. She’s disabled internet on her phone so she only gets texts and phone calls, so there’s nothing to do but work. It’s like she’s living ten years ago, but Emma knows that it’s for the best. She used to torture herself looking up her name when she was on trial. She’d also look up Neal’s name in some pathetic attempt to find out where in the world he was, but nothing ever came of that. All that was left of him was a name in the wind, a cheap keychain necklace, and skid marks on her heart.

There was plenty about her, though. And she’s sure that those articles are all popping back up and being linked to the new articles that exist. How is her name being slandered now? How many people are reading false information and making false judgments?

Is the world burning down around her without giving her a chance to extinguish the flames?

Will’s fingers tap against the countertop in front of her, and Emma jumps, her heart thumping. When the hell did he move this way?

“You’re not fine, Ems. Your entire life is blowing up, and you’re acting like nothing is happening. I have been your friend for seven years and your shoulder to cry on for nearly all of those. Why don’t we talk about what’s going on inside that head of yours before you snap mine off?”

Emma’s shoulders deflate, and she almost opens her mouth to say that she doesn’t want to talk. She’s tired of talking. It’s all she’s done with her parents for days, and if she gets one more sad look from her mom, she’s going to scream.

But Will isn’t her parents. Will is honest and truthful, and he won’t judge her for any of the things that she says. He never has, and there’s no way she could have made it this long living here without him.

“Can we at least paint while I talk? I need some kind of physical activity to fuel my anger.”

“Absolutely. And if you’re still venting by the time we finish, I want to install those new light fixtures over the booths. It’s too dark in this damn place.”

“It’s a pub.”

“It’s still too dark.”

“Whatever.”

Emma has always hated painting. It takes too long and is messy no matter how careful you are, but it’s soothing to focus on the up and down motion of the roller as parts of the pub that have been a little worn down or scuffed up by footprints and food stains look brand new with a little effort. Maybe it’s the fumes going to her head or maybe it’s the distraction of not having to think about the fact that she hasn’t heard from Killian in a little under a day and from Ruby in three days since everything happened and she had to explain to Ruby that the reports of her dating Killian were real.

It had been fine, honestly. Ruby had been Ruby. She’d been shocked yet excited and infinitely curious about all of the details (mostly the sex), her texts coming in more frequently than Emma could reply to them, and Emma thought that maybe just maybe, Ruby wouldn’t be too mad at her.

Until Emma told her how long she and Killian had been together and how long Emma had been hiding her relationship from her best friend.

Why did she do that? She shouldn’t have. At first when she and Killian were new and unsure and had no idea where their relationship was going, sure. It made sense for her to keep things from Ruby. Emma was sure that things were going to go up in flames and that it was all going to be a simple footnote in her life. Killian was never supposed to stick around like this. Things were supposed to end, and she’d be left with tiny mementos and another scratch in her heart that no one knew about but her.

But he’s still here and is still around. At some point, probably actual years ago, Emma should have told Ruby and trusted her with this really big secret that has changed Emma’s life.

Scared little girls often grow up to be terrified women though, and no matter how much you love someone, there’s always the possibility that things are going to burn down so that there’s nothing left but ashes.

Emma is starting to see the sparks of fire even while trying to extinguish them.

Damn.

She should have told Ruby. She didn’t, and now she could be on the verge of losing absolutely everyone she’s opened her heart up to since moving here. That sounds about right for how her life always goes.

“Ruby still hasn’t texted you back then?”

Emma nearly rolls paint across the top of a booth, only stopping herself at the last minute to look over at Will who is happily running a brush along the crown molding to touch up the trim.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know when you’re bloody lying. But, also, your mum told me about Ruby. I told you that you should have told her before.”

“Now is really not the time for an ‘I told you so.’”

“Oi, I know, but it’s true. You’ve got to own up to it. Your friend is going to be right pissed with you for awhile, but if she’s truly your mate, you’ll be fine. Give her some time to breathe and think things through.”

Emma’s a little rougher with the paint roller than she should be as Will’s words settle down in her. “I hate when you’re right.”

“So, always?”

“About ten percent of the time.”

He shrugs. “Better than I did in school.”

There’s a buzz in the back pocket of Emma’s jeans, and she nearly drops the roller to reach for it, her heart racing.

**Killian:** I’m sorry that I haven’t called. It’s been hell. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to get to the pub, but would you mind if I had my security come and pick you up so that you can stay with me for a few days while we figure everything out?

Oh.

That is certainly not the text that she’s been waiting for, but it’s the text she’s getting. Her mind has created a million and one scenarios as to what’s been going on with Killian as he talked to his family and not a single one of them has been good. His text doesn’t exactly reassure her.

**Emma:** I’m working this afternoon, but I can be picked up tonight, okay? I don’t want to leave Will and my parents when we’re doing maintenance work.

**Killian:** Sure, love. Whatever you want is what we’ll do. I love you.

**Emma:** I love you, too.

She puts her phone back in her pocket and twists the ring on her right hand, foolishly wishing that things could go back to how they were two years ago when she was given it as a gift and when her life wasn’t suddenly taking place in a fishbowl.

-/-

-/-

**October 22nd, 2016**

Emma’s body jolts awake suddenly, the quietness of the room something she’s not used to, and even in the darkness, Emma can tell this isn’t her bedroom at home. She’s fine, though. She’s in the house she and Killian are staying in while in Switzerland for her birthday, and there’s no reason for her heart to be pounding and making her cheeks flame up in warmth. It’s simply the shock of sleeping somewhere different than the place she’s slept every night for six years.

This isn’t a small, cramped room in the apartment above the pub. This is a nice, large bedroom with thick white comforters and pillows that are currently scattered across the floor leading up to the tall windows that enable Emma to see the snow that’s falling outside. It’s beautiful, especially in the darkness of the night, and Emma might just like to stay here forever.

Her body is battered and bruised from skiing, but Emma doesn’t think she’s been this calm and happy and, well, relaxed in years. She didn’t want to do this, but she’s glad that she did.

“Why are you awake?” Killian mumbles into her skin, kissing up the cords of her neck until he’s nuzzling his nose just behind her ear so that she can feel a mixture of the heat of his breath on her skin and the coolness of his lips and his tongue as he teases the lobe. Really, she can feel every inch of his body pressed into hers. His scruff is burning her skin even with its softness, and his hand is moving from where it was resting on her stomach so that his fingertips ghost over her right nipple while she feels an ache curl between her thighs.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, craning her neck to give him more access even though he seems to be pretty determined to work just below her ear in _that_ spot. She doesn’t mind, especially with the way that his erection is pressing into the crease of her ass.

Killian clicks his tongue at the same moment that his fingers tease her nipple, applying the slightest bit of pressure that has her arching her back as much as she can. Killian’s groan runs straight to her core, heat further pooling between her thighs.

Who needs a fire to keep her warm when she’s got this?

“We should go back to sleep,” Killian hums, his lips and his hands still doing wondrous work while she feels her heart tick up a beat – and then one, two, three more. He’s very lazily working her up in the darkness of the room with snow falling steadily outside, most likely building up enough that getting outside the door will be difficult. But Emma did tell Killian that she didn’t want to leave the bed today. All she wanted was to sleep and relax and simply get to be together with no interruptions.

“I don’t think what you’re doing is going to help us go back to sleep.”

“You’re beautiful,” Killian murmurs against her jaw as the hand that’s been resting under her head urges her to twist her neck. She does, and even in the uncomfortableness of it all she’s glad for it as his lips move over hers, softly at first before their tongues curl together as her hand reaches to grab the back of his head, fingers threading through the softness to keep him from moving.

It’s not the most graceful of movements or positions, but she doesn’t care with the way her entire body is tingling, pleasure and anticipation and love all rolled into one. Being with Killian, and only Killian, for the past week and waking up with him every day has been something she never thought she’d have. They get to simply live, to eat meals together and to watch television or argue over dishes. They get to be themselves with fewer restrictions than usual.

Their lives are messy and complicated, and if she could go back and change things so that she could fall in love with someone else, she wouldn’t.

Emma’s got no idea what’s going to happen with them in the future, but in moments like this where Killian is harshly biting down on her bottom lip while rocking his hips into her ass, she doesn’t care to think about much else than what’s happening right now.

She’s never been this emotionally intimate with anyone. With Neal, she was so young. Hell, she’s still young now, and sometimes she can’t quite believe that her heart has allowed her to love Killian. It’s so battered and blue, much like her skin after this week of continually busting her ass on the slopes, and it wasn’t supposed to be able to love again.

It was never supposed to want Killian.

She was never supposed to choose him.

But Emma did. And Killian did the same to her. And maybe it’s because his heart is battered and blue as well. He’s had so many people who claimed to love him betray him, just like her, and while their situations are vastly different, they can still understand each other.

First loves don’t have to be forever loves, and past hurts don’t have to stay tattooed on hearts.

Emma pulls back when she has to breathe, her chest heaving while heat continues to simmer below the surface of her skin threatening to break free, and Killian’s hands move from her breasts and down her stomach, his nails digging into the skin of her hipbone while she watches his eyelids flutter open, the blue barely visible despite their closeness. That’s when she arches her back, when she aches for more, and the moan that passes through Killian’s lips is one she wants to remember forever.

“Emma, bloody hell, love.”

“Are you complaining?”

“God, no,” he growls while his hand finds its way under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, deft fingers quickly teasing her in a way that has every inch of her skin prickling and hair sticking up while he teases her. “I’d spend every morning riling you up like this if it were physically possible.”

“Are you saying you don’t have the stamina?”

He nips at her neck then, sliding a finger inside of her at the same time, and with the buzzing in her ear, she can’t quite hear what he’s saying. She’s sure that it’s something about aching muscles and it being physically impossible for anyone, but honestly, she doesn’t care. All she cares about is the way that he’s building her up. They’re still fully dressed, haven’t moved from the way that they woke up, but she’s still experiencing one of the most glorious middle of the night moments of her life.

And that’s exactly how it goes. Killian doesn’t seem to be in any hurry despite the fact that she can feel him straining against her, and he takes his time working her up higher and higher and higher while his lips continue to move against hers or against his neck. She’s in a haze, everything blurry around her, and when she tries to move positions, Killian doesn’t let her. Instead he whispers in her ear for her to be patient, and she, for once, listens.

She listens to everything that he says, every sweet caress and dirty word. He’s a talker, always has been, and sometimes she wonders how the kindest man she’s ever known can think of things to say that would make nearly anyone blush for weeks on end. She knows that he has his rough and dirty sides, that he’s not always the man who will laugh at her dumb jokes with genuine affections, but sometimes it’s easy to forget with the softness that he’s always showing her.

“Move your bottoms down, darling,” he groans, moving his hand away from her core just as she felt that her trembling was about to stop and turn into a wave of release.

“Bastard.”

“Technically, no. Though my father may wish otherwise.”

Her heart stings at his joke, at all of the truth behind it, but she knows that Killian doesn’t want to get into all of that right now. So she shimmies her bottoms off of her, taking her underwear with them before throwing off her sweater so that she can be as close as possible to Killian. It’s not the most graceful thing in the world, especially with the ache that’s still remaining between her thighs, but then Killian is grabbing her leg and lifting it over his bare hip while his cock gently slaps against her. The friction is wonderful, deliciously warm, and she’d stay grinding against him if she didn’t know just how good it feels when he’s inside of her.

As she turns her head to kiss him again, wanting to be connected as much as they can, he guides himself into her, stretching her with his thickness and the angle while he settles inside of her. She has to squeeze her eyes shut even more tightly and stop the movements of her lips as he begins to gently rock inside of her, the depth and the position driving her back into the madness that she was so close to getting a few moments ago.

Like everything else this morning, it’s a slow push and pull that reaches every inch of her, her blood running hot through her veins while her heart beats an unsteady rhythm that she’s not sure she ever wants to beat steady again. Killian’s arm tightens around her stomach while her hand stays anchored in his hair, the other bunching into the sheets, and she stretches her leg out a little more as Killian shifts to go deeper inside of her, the both of them groaning with the movement and the change.

For some reason this morning feels different, like they’re closer somehow, but she knows that it’s not true. There’s no added meaning to the thrust of his hips or of the way that his fingers continue to tease her breasts or her clit as his lips move against her mouth and her jaw. It’s all the same, but she wants to savor it, savor the gentle rocking, the gentle push and pull.

When her release hits her, a shudder runs through her while her muscles tense, the heat of her body and Killian’s body wrapped around her intense while her heart thumps against her ribcage. She knows that she says his name, she really does, but for a few seconds, she’s not exactly sure what’s going on until Killian’s hips start thrusting into hers at a quicker pace. She can hear the slap of skin, the rhythm of his thrusts, and the snow outside might as well be fire for all of the heat that she feels.

He’s thrusting with purpose, the moves sharp, and she can feel him pulse and twitch inside of her when he reaches his release, coming undone with a muttering of her name and his love with her and a “fuck” about every other word. They both take a few moments to breathe, their bodies moving in tandem as sweat rolls over both of their skin, and she can still feel the hot twitch of Killian inside of her. He must feel it too because he thrusts up into her while his lips form into a smile in the back of her neck.

She can’t see it, but she knows.

When you love someone, you know.

“I am irreversibly in love with you,” he sighs into her ear, his words so soft and meaningful that she suddenly isn’t able to form words herself, the only ones in her head a repeat of Killian’s husky voice telling her that he is irreversibly in love with her. “Stumbling into that pub is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Her heart practically breaks through its chambers, her ribcage, and then her flesh at his words, and she shakes her head into the pillow, scratching his scalp with her nails. “Sometimes I wish that you wouldn’t be so poetic with your words because I don’t think I’m capable of saying something like that back to you.”

“I rather enjoy rendering you speechless. It’s usually only when I’m giving you food and your mouth is full.”

Laughter rumbles through her chest, and she twists her head again to look at him. This time she can see the blue of his eyes, the lightness of the blue mixed with the darkness of desire, and she leans down to kiss his nose.

“I’m irreversibly in love with you, too.”

They shift apart, the loss of heat immediate as Killian moves into his own space, and Emma stretches her arms above her head to work though some of the kinks from skiing and sex and her inability to not sleep on her neck in the wrong way. The chilled air continues to nip at her skin despite the heat that’s running through the house. She needs to move and to get dressed, to shower and clean herself up a little bit more - her hair is a tangled bird’s nest - but this bed is so comfortable. It may be the softest and warmest mattress in existence.

Can she take it back home with her to England?

Killian is resting his head on his pillow next to her, unruly hair falling over his forehead and scruff a little longer and darker than usual. She loves him like this in the early morning light. It’s as if his demons don’t know how to get him here, and she’d like to take that back to England with her as well.

Slowly, she slides back down under the covers, getting dressed and getting food the last thing on her mind as she twists to the side and reaches out to brush Killian’s hair off of his forehead. His lips twitch up into a smile in response, lashes moving from his cheeks as his eyes open to reveal the blue she couldn’t get enough of earlier.

Someone like her with scars inked red on her skin shouldn’t be allowed to have someone love her the way that Killian loves her, and she in return, and yet here she is. Maybe she should learn to listen to her own thoughts about letting past hurt go.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers, his voice still gravely, accent thick with sleep. “I hope it started out well.”

Emma scoffs and thumps her finger against his temple while his fingers search for her waist under the covers, pulling her closer to him so that she can tuck her feet into the warmth of his calves. He hates that she does that, claims that her feet are too cold, but how else is she supposed to get them to warm up?

“It did. I think this could be my second favorite birthday ever.”

“Second?” he gasps, dramatically putting his hands over his chest in offense even though he knows that she’s kidding. “What the hell could have been better than this? I just put in some of my best work earlier.”

“It’s still early in the day. You still have time to make up for it. I could be persuaded to have this be my favorite birthday.”

His fingers tug against her waist, nails digging into skin, and it’s difficult for Emma not to squirm away. “Well, I’d hope so. It’s not even nine in the morning yet, and I’ve yet to cook you breakfast or sing you an awkward song to ring in this new year. I’ve also yet to give you your gift.”

“This trip is my gift. That’s what we agreed upon. I didn’t want money spent on me.”

“This isn’t a birthday gift. Not technically. I mean, it most definitely is, but you can’t be cross with me if I frame it simply as a gift because I love you and not a gift to celebrate the day you came out of your mum’s vagina.”

“I know that’s how it happened, but please never say that again.”

His brows move in a dance across his forehead, mischief practically radiating off of him, and then he’s rolling over in bed and getting out from under the covers so that she has a view of muscled thighs and his ass before he opens up a drawer and pulls out a pair of his flannel pajama pants, slipping into them so that they lay low at his waist and tossing her the matching button-down top. She easily pulls it on over her shoulders and is thankful for the momentary warmth until she gets up and puts warmer clothes back on. The snow is still so beautiful outside, white tufts continuously falling, but Emma knows that they won’t be venturing out into it today.

Killian keeps shuffling through the drawer, though, and Emma’s heartbeat quickens a little bit too much for her liking. It’s been three years, and sometimes he still makes her so nervous if only because she’s never quite sure what’s going to happen.

Then she sees a small blue velvet box in Killian’s hand, and her heart takes off like a rocket. That can’t be a ring. It can’t be. She loves him more than she ever thought her heart would be capable of after Neal, but she’s not ready. She’s not ready to face the firing squad and the judgement of his family and of the world. In the same way that Emma forgets that Killian isn’t a normal man, she forgets that their relationship does have an expiration date.

At least, it has an expiration date for how things are now.

She wasn’t quite expecting that day to be today.

“Calm down, love,” Killian starts as he sits back down on the bed next to her and reaches forward to tuck her hair behind her ear, “I’m not proposing.”

Her eyes dart toward him before quickly daring away, her stomach doing all kinds of ridiculous flips and twists and turns. She didn’t want him to propose, right?

“Eric was shopping for Ariel,” Killian continues as he opens the box to reveal a silver ring with a small sapphire resting atop it. “It was their anniversary, and I went shopping with him like a good mate would do. You’ve mentioned before that you like sapphires, and I simply thought that you would like something like this.”

“Killian - ” she starts, putting her hand on his cheek as she tilts her head to the side.

“And obviously I didn’t buy it with him there since he couldn’t exactly know that I had a woman to be buying jewelry for, so I went back on another day. I know you don’t like for me to buy you things, but Emma, I swear to God, it kills me that we can’t be normal, that I can’t take you out when I want to. Hell, you’ve never even been to my apartment. This week is us getting to be us, just us, and I wanted you to have something special from me because I love you.”

Stupid, sweet, sentimental man who absolutely makes her heart swell.

Reaching up to caress his cheeks, she runs her knuckles across the apple of his cheek before holding her right hand out to truly look at the ring. It’s simple, nothing overstated, and it’s something she would most definitely pick out for herself.

Good job, Jones.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers as she leans forward to give him a chaste kiss. And then two more. “And I love you, no matter what. I hate that we can’t be normal, but normal is overrated, you know? This is what’s working out for us right now, and I’m good with that. We’ll change things when we’re ready. But right now I’m good right where we are.”

Killian nods his head as his fingers move across her wrist, pulling her hand to his lips so that he can press his mouth right next to where the ring is.

There go those butterflies again.

“I’m hungry,” Emma blurts out as her stomach rumbles. “Like, seriously hungry.”

“Do you want me to make you something?”

“Nah. I can do it because I’m in the mood for a very specific thing.”

Killian quirks his brow, but he doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t really give him the chance to before she’s throwing the covers off of her legs and getting out of bed. Quickly, she shuffles through her suitcase (she didn’t unpack her clothes like Killian did because that’s utterly ridiculous) and pulls on a pair of her leggings, not bothering to find socks even though the hardwood is cool against her feet, before making her way out of the bedroom and out into the hallway to carefully walk down the spiral staircase that takes her to the kitchen. Logistically, she understands that the spiral staircase is to save space, but drunk people that probably stay here and a tiny staircase are not a good combination.

Not that she’s drunk right now.

She’s just hungry, and when she gets to the kitchen, she pulls out the loaf of bread, butter, and the bag of shredded cheese they have. Killian obviously didn’t know that she would require artificial cheese slices when he ordered the groceries.

“What are you making?” Killian questions as he comes down the stairs right after her.

“Grilled cheese.”

“You know, even in all of my years of being with you, I’ve never had a grilled cheese.”

Emma practically drops the spatula and knocks over the hot pan as she turns to look at Killian with her lips parted. “What? No, that’s ridiculous. You had to have had one.”

“I haven’t.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I am totally telling the truth.”

“This is my favorite thing to eat. Like, ever.”

“It’s cheese and bread. How could this be your favorite thing to eat?”

Emma huffs and turns back to the stove to focus on the grilled cheese, which she’s definitely now making several so Killian has to eat one. “I like them because they’re damn good, but it’s also what my dad used to make when Mom would travel home to London. It was just me and him, and he would always make them the night before she came home.” Emma shrugs her shoulders and flips a sandwich. “I don’t know. They come with good memories.”

Suddenly, there are warm hands resting around her stomach, fingers spreading out, and a scruffy chin resting on top of her head. “That’s a sweet story, my love. I’m glad you have such happy memories from your childhood.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, debating on if she should ask the next question. There’s so much they still don’t know about each other, and some areas are sensitive subjects for Killian.

“Will you share a happy childhood memory with me?”

“Emma - ”

“Please, just one.”

Killian’s fingers squeeze a little tighter around her waist, but she can feel him nod as she flips one sandwich onto a plate and moves to start cooking the next one.

“Once upon a time,” he begins, his voice so exaggerated that she knows he’s doing it on purpose to distract her, “there was a little rascal named Killian. He was devastatingly handsome, even as a young lad. Dark hair and blue eyes. You know, every little lass’s dream.”

She kicks back at him. “You’re being cheeky.”

“And you, my darling, are interrupting me.” He bites at her ear lobe, and she almost burns herself again. “Anyways, this little rascal lived in a palace, and true to all of the movies and books and horrible television shows, there are secret passageways in this palace. And as a child who was quite sheltered and who spent more time interacting with adults than children his own age, he had crafted himself a nice little imagination. Not only was he handsome, but he was also intelligent.”

“I bet this little rascal has a hard time getting a girlfriend when he gets older. His head must be rather large from all of that ego.”

“His girlfriend doesn’t seem to mind how _large_ he is.”

Emma scrunches up her nose and forces herself not to laugh. “You’re disgusting.”

“Regardless,” Killian continues as Emma continues to cook, “this young lad took to hiding in secret passageways when he knew his family or some of the staff were going to be walking away. Then, out of nowhere, he’d pop out of the door and make all of them jump so that they’d drop whatever they were carrying. It was magnificent.”

She reaches down to slap his hand. “That’s terrible. Those poor people.”

“I was eight, love.”

“Imagine the heart attacks you gave them.”

“Oh, I know,” he admits. “I think I sent one of my nannies into early retirement, but the best part is that my father got so frustrated with me doing this that he legitimately sealed off some of the passageways. He said they’d be opened back up at a later time, but I don’t know that they are. Bet you won’t find that in any of the history books.”

Emma laughs as she reaches over and flips the switch to turn off the stove, flipping the second sandwich onto the plate and stepping away from Killian’s grasp so that she can hop up onto the countertop to look at him.

“I like that you have some good memories, even if one obviously never included eating a grilled cheese.” She reaches down and holds out the plate to Killian. He raises his brow, obviously wary, before taking the sandwich and taking a large bite out of it even though she knows that he’s going to burn the roof of his mouth. “So, do you like it?

Killian reaches his hand up to cover his mouth as he chews, and she already knows the answer to her question.

“Bloody hell, this is disgusting.”

“I think I’m going to have to break up with you for saying things like that.”

“It’s just what’s going to have to happen. I can’t eat this.”

Emma reaches forward and takes the sandwich from him, taking her own large bite and loving every minute of it. “More for me then.”

-/-

-/-

**May 19th, 2018**

Emma wants to throw up.

In fact, she’s wanted to throw up so much in the past few days that if she didn’t know for a fact that she wasn’t pregnant, she would assume she was in the throws of morning sickness and going to welcome a little bundle of screaming joy in a few months. That would throw out every complication she’s facing right now and magnify it all by at least one hundred.

But that’s not happening.

She just wants to vomit.

She wants to vomit because she’s meeting Killian’s family today, and even though she knows that they’re a bunch of assholes, she still wants it to go well. For Killian. For herself. For everyone. This is their lives she’s concerned about, and Emma is terrified that everything is going to be stripped away from her.

By now, she’s lost her privacy, most likely her best friend, income that is part of her parents’ livelihood, and if things don’t go well, Emma could lose the man she loves.

She’s never been one to say that she needs a man. That’s not true. But love is a part of all happiness, and she’s chosen to be open to that.

Losing Killian wouldn’t kill her, but it’d come damn well close.

An unfamiliar floorboard creaks outside the room, and Emma nearly jolts up in bed before she remembers that she’s feeling kind of nauseous, her stomach rolling in waves. This is Killian’s apartment, which is kind of a weird word to describe what is essentially a two-story house, and she’s not going to be used to the weird creaks in the floorboards like she is back at her apartment.

Emma isn’t used to any of this.

She’s been dating the man for almost five years now, and yesterday was the first time that she’d ever seen his home. It’s surprisingly simple, even if she’s sure can’t afford anything in here, and it looks exactly like what she thought Killian’s home would look like. Everything is full of deep warm colors from the richness of the hardwood floor to the color of the leather couches in the living room that are topped with navy and white pillows that Emma just knows Killian bought himself. When she asked him about the little touches in the place as he showed her around, he waved her away, claiming that his mom hired a decorator to fix the place up when he moved back to London after college when he was told he couldn’t do active deployment for the Navy.

That’s not true, though. The decorator thing. Or, it might be, but it’s not _entirely_ true. Emma knows that the bookshelves are filled with all of Killian’s books and that the little trinkets are things he’s collected over the years. The blankets and throw pillows are all him, especially with the way he likes cuddling up with them when he’s in the living room at home, and nearly everything is about comfort and practicality. None of it is pompous or excessively unnecessary, and even though Emma hasn’t met Killian’s family, she knows that they are very much into the excessive.

This bedspread, though, has to be made out of the most comfortable material in the world. It’s so comfortable that she never wants to leave.

The door pushes open then, and Killian walks though. He’s in a pair of running shorts and a gray t-shirt, sweat sticking it to his skin. Emma would appreciate the fact that he got up to work out if she didn’t know that it was only seven in the morning.

Waking up this early isn’t necessary. She’s worked in a pub too long to have these hours.

“Morning, love,” he greets, his accent particularly thick this morning. “Sleep well?”

Emma pulls the covers further back over her and flings her arm over her eyes. If she goes back to sleep, today can’t happen, right?

The bed dips next to her, and Killian easily removes her arm so that he’s looking down at her with his hair falling into his eyes. “I would take that as a no, but you were out like a light every time I checked.”

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“I was making sure you weren’t worrying as much as I am.”

“I feel like I’m going to vomit every time I think about meeting your family. This is awful, Killian. I’m not meant for things like this. I come from a middle class American background. I’ve had legal issues. I’m not proper. I don’t know how to be proper. I am literally the exact opposite of the woman you were supposed to fall in love with, and we all know it. I don’t freak out like this. I don’t. Yet here I am.”

Killian leans forward and dips his head down to press his lips against her rapidly beating pulse point. She can’t think when he does things like that.

“And yet I fell in love with you.”

“That was really dumb on your part.”

Killian’s brows furrow together as he pushes back her hair off of his forehead. “We don’t have to do this, Swan. At least not today. If you’re truly this uncomfortable, I can tell them not to come over. I can give you more time to adjust.”

“Honestly, if you give me more time, I’m only going to freak out more. I think it’s going to be one of those times where I have to bite the bullet. I’m kind of a take action kind of girl.”

His head nods, and Emma swears that she melts a little bit more into the mattress. Would it be so horrible if she asked for her parents to come to this lunch? People can’t be rude about someone’s daughter in front of them, right?

(Wrong.)

“Then we’ll have lunch with them today and bite the bullet so to speak.”

-/-

Emma fucking curtsies.

Killian didn’t go over how in the world she was supposed to greet his family, and her legs instinctively bent beneath her like that’s what she was supposed to do. And maybe it was, but the way that Brennan’s jaw ticked and his eyes rolled made her think that maybe it wasn’t. Or maybe it was the fact that she’s wearing jeans and a sweater and didn’t have on shoes when they came in.

Not proper at all.

These people have to lounge around the house in sweats and socks or t-shirts. They’re human beings. There’s no way in hell that they wear suits and dresses and heels all day long.

From how this lunch is going, Emma thinks that maybe Brennan does. Everyone else seems to have a little more compassion and normalcy in her life. Maybe that stems from the fact that Elsa is still sick from her pregnancy and excuses herself from the table every five minutes, or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve brought Alexander along with them so that Liam and Elsa are normal human beings who are parents to what has to be the cutest kid Emma has ever seen.

Having a toddler at lunch is a surefire way to make sure there’s no yelling. At least, by adults.

It’s not a surefire way to make sure that there aren’t these subtle digs along the way. There have been plenty of those.

_“What’s it like to work in a place like a pub?”_

_“You have no university education?”_

_“Did you ever think about some kind of law enforcement? It matches up well with your history.”_

_“Secrets seem to be very well kept over here.”_

Brennan is obviously not a fan of hers, but she’s not exactly a fan of his either. The fucking King of England is insulting her despite the fact that this is supposed to be a get-to-know-each other lunch, and she doesn’t know what to do with any of it. Does he still have the power to behead people? Because Emma is kind of thinking that she has some thoughts she’d like to share that would be worthy of her being beheaded two centuries ago.

Then again, she’s also a working woman who has had sex while unmarried, so they’d likely already be burning her at the stakes. Of course, today’s version of that is sitting at lunch while someone throws her past back at her with every other sentence.

Killian’s fingers twitch against Emma’s leg from where they’ve been resting there the entire meal. On occasion, nails have dug into her thigh and other times his hand has soothingly rubbed up and down her leg in a continual reminder that he’s here. If Emma wasn’t so worried about her own head imploding from irritation, she’d be worried about Killian’s because of the straight set of his jaw as it ticks.

“Emma, darling,” Elsa begins as she adjusts Alexander on her lap, “what did your parents do before they came here since they didn’t always tend the pub?”

Emma places her fork down and finishes chewing her chicken, which seems to take forever. It always does when someone is talking to her. But Elsa has been far kinder than even Emma imagined she would be, and she’s been the one person Emma has wanted to talk to during this meal.

“My mom was a teacher, and my dad was a veterinary technician. So lots of kids and animals were always around, which was really nice.”

“We never had any pets as children,” Elsa sighs before placing a kiss on Alexander’s cheek. He’s getting sleepy, his little eyes drooping. “My mum wouldn’t let Anna and I have them, said they were too messy, but I’ve always wanted a dog or a cat or something. I think the closest we really have are the horses, and as beautiful as they are, it’s not exactly something you can cuddle up to. Do you ride?”

“What an inane question,” Brennan scoffs, and Killian’s nails dig into her skin once more. “Of course she doesn’t ride. She’s an uneducated bartender. She would have no idea how to do any of that, and frankly, I don’t understand why I’m having to continue to sit here and make small talk with her like this isn’t simply another one of Killian’s flings. She’ll be selling information about him to the papers in weeks. I simply can’t wait to read another article about the size of my son’s cock.”

“Brennan - ”

“Father.”

“What the actual hell?” Emma sputters out as rage radiates inside of her, heat boiling in her blood even as she remembers where she is and looks over to see if Alexander is paying any attention to them. He’s not. He’s asleep now. “What is wrong with you?”

“I suggest you remember who you’re speaking to, lass.”

Killian squeezes her thigh again, probably in warning, but she doesn’t listen.

“I know exactly who I’m speaking to. I’m speaking to my boyfriend’s father, who has obviously been little more than a sperm donor to him for all of the love that you’ve shown him. I’ve seen a lot of shitty people and shitty parents in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone quite like you. I don’t care that you’re rude to me. I don’t. I should, but I don’t give a damn. The only thing I care about is that by hurting me, you’re hurting your son. Who does that?”

“I don’t think this is really your place,” Liam quietly scolds, and if he hadn’t been relatively decent throughout this entire meal, she’d pop off on him too. She knew having to break up fights in the pub would come in handy one day.

“It is definitely not your place,” Brennan interjects.

“It is exactly my place,” she hisses as she scoots the chair back and stands from the table so that she can look at every single person except the person who she loves. “You have spent the past hour ridiculing me for my past and for these so-called ‘indiscretions’. I don’t know if you know this, but there are hundreds of years of your family’s indiscretions in books and movies and every other form of media you can find. You are not perfect. I’m not either. But at least I’m not trying to make someone who I’m supposed to love miserable by tearing apart his life because the media is full of shitty people who are making you look bad. Do you know what makes you look bad, Your Majesty? Being a pompous asshole with a stick so far up your ass that it’s obviously knocking out some of your brain cells.”

“Enough,” Brennan screams as his hands slam down against the table, silverware and plates moving enough to startle Alexander from his nap so that he starts crying. “I will not let you speak to me this way. You are nothing.”

“I am not nothing. I was never nothing.”

“You are - ”

“No,” Killian says with a completely even voice that sends chills down Emma’s heated spine. “No. Get out of my home. You don’t deserve to be here. I’ve always known that your heart was black and full of bitterness, but it has never been like this. I kept having this foolish hope that things would get better, but it’s only getting worse. You don’t deserve any more of our time. You never deserved any of it!”

The room goes silent, only the sounds of Emma’s heart beating in between her ears and Alex’s small sniffles remaining, but then there’s another scratch of a chair against hardwood as Brennan stands up from the table as well. Emma’s always thought that there was the slightest resemblance between Killian and his dad, but she can’t see any of it now.

Not at all.

“Everything you have,” Brennan begins as he flings his napkin down on top of the table, “is because of me. Your entire life is because of me, and I suggest you do not forget that, Killian. We’re leaving, Allison.”

“You’re leaving, Brennan,” Allison begins, “and I am not going with you.”

“I said we were leaving.”

“And I said we weren’t! For years, I have wondered where the man I married disappeared to, and occasionally, I see glimpses. Tonight, I have no idea, and I won’t be going home with you. You can go home and be miserable on your own.”

Holy shit.

Killian’s mom is kind of Emma’s hero right now.

Brennan opens his mouth to say some other kind of asinine thing, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything else before walking away from the table and walking out of the room. Emma doesn’t move or breathe or probably even blink until there’s the slam of a front door, and then all of her emotions come back to her so that her entire body begins to shake and that familiar feeling of wanting to vomit comes back.

Except this time she thinks she might actually have to vomit.

On shaky limbs, she turns from the dining room and runs out of it in search of a bathroom. She doesn’t know the layout of this place, not yet, so it takes her several attempts to find a bathroom, and when she does, she unfortunately becomes close friends with the toilet. Never before has she been so glad that Killian is a neat freak because at least she knows that this bathroom is clean.

(Unless this is the one Elsa has been using to vomit.)

That’s not what she should be focusing on right now, but if she focuses on anything else, her body will never stop betraying her.

She can’t stop shaking.

“Emma, love.”

She didn’t even hear the door open, didn’t hear the click, but suddenly Killian is pulling her hair back and twisting it around as his hand moves up and down her back in soothing circles.

“Are you alright?”

“My head is in the toilet, Killian, and I was just ripped apart by your dad. No, I’m not okay.”

“Do you think you’re going to be alright?”

Emma heaves a little bit, but nothing comes out, so she moves from the toilet and rests her back against a cabinet so that a handle digs into the small of her back. Killian is sitting on the ground with her, his hair in disarray, and there are bags underneath his eyes that she didn’t notice before.

If he looks that much like shit, what in the world does she look like?

“I don’t know,” Emma admits. “Where do we go from here? Your mom and Elsa are great. I don’t know how they’ve just sat by all these years, but then again, I get it. It’s easy to judge outside of the situation. And Liam doesn’t seem _that_ bad, but your dad...we can’t do anything if he’s going to hate me. I’m not sure if I can live under his scrutiny. I’m not - I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.”

“I don’t either, but I guess we try, you know? We talk to my mum and to Elsa and Liam. We make our best effort. Your life is never going to go back to normal, love. Not completely. And even if things are currently fucked up here, I want to do my best to protect you and your parents so that they can open the pub back up. I want you to be happy, and I refuse to let my father take that away from you.”

Emma kicks her foot against Killian’s. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Killian’s hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear, a half-hearted smile on his face. “I will be if you just give me a shot to prove that I love you and will do whatever it takes so that we can be okay.”

“I think we’ll be okay.” Emma reaches up to push her hair off of her forehead and wipe away some of the sweat. That could be the biggest lie she’s ever told, but it’s the only thing keeping her from vomiting right now. “Do we need to go out and talk to the rest of your family? I feel like I need to make a better impression.”

“I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, that’s true. They do kind of have me vomiting out of stress.”

“Bastards, all of them. Even Alexander.”

Emma laughs for what feels like the first time in days, her stomach rumbling and her chest heaving, and she may be delusional, but at least she’s laughing. That’s not something she thought she’d be capable an hour ago.

“Can we just...can we sit in here for a little while?”

“We can do whatever you need.”

“I honestly think I might need a little bit of toothpaste. Throwing up is disgusting.”

Killian’s brows raise up his forehead, little wrinkles appearing while the corners of his lips turn downward. “And you kiss me with that mouth?”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More backstories and sweet moments and confrontations, oh my! And an appearance by our favorite mermaid, even if she's definitely not a mermaid here 💕

**January 12th, 2014.**

“Do you want something to drink?” Emma asks him as he settles down at his seat near the counter.

Killian weighs his answer in his mind, the want to drown himself in alcohol and the want to not do that any longer competing for dominance. He wants to take his time, to not let his voice give away the fact that he’s reeling tonight, so he needs time to make sure that his voice stays even. He’ll tell Emma eventually. He will. It’s just that she seemed so happy when he walked into the pub tonight. She was humming along to the radio and filling orders with Will, the two of them laughing at each other as they usually do. She’s happy, and he doesn’t like taking that away from her.

But they’re...together. They’re dating. They have been for almost eight months now, and as much as he knows her and they know each other, there’s still so much they don’t know about each other, still many gaps to be filled. There’s so much to be said, and he wants to say it all.

He’s simply not sure if he wants to say it all tonight. Emma can be so skittish, and he’s constantly wondering what it is about him that’s going to have her running.

He apparently has several thoughts competing for dominance tonight.

It’ll likely be called a draw.

“You wanna give me an entire bottle of rum?” he finally answers, the words escaping his lips before he can stop them as his fingers tap against the bar top. “I don’t care what kind.”

Both of her brows raise, the two of them practically reaching her hairline, and he knows he’s not going to get away with playing that off as a joke before her lips change from being pressed together in a line to an open sigh. He should have never said anything, probably shouldn’t have come here tonight when he’s all up inside his own head, but Emma calms him. She calms him. He loves her and talks to her about nearly all of his issues, but this wasn’t really one he wanted to bring up tonight.

All he wanted was to be with her tonight, to get to talk, laugh, sleep in the same bed. All he wanted, all he always wants, is her. They’re so young in the grand scheme of things, really. They have so much time ahead of them, but all he can really focus on right now is his past.

Shit.

He’s going to do it. He will. He’ll talk to her. Emma laid so many of her wounds out for him before they officially got together, her bravery far exceeding his when he knows that she still struggles in coping with what Neal did to her, and yet sometimes he still worries of sharing his wounds with her. At least, sharing all of them. She’s been through a lot when it comes to her relationships. Neal really did a number on her by being the biggest asshole in the world (competing hand and hand with his father and occasionally his brother, he thinks), and yet she’s allowed Killian in her life despite all of his baggage.

And he’s going to add on more, to make their combined weight so much heavier than it already is even if he knows that everyone has baggage. Only small children don’t, but they will. Everyone has pasts and issues. Everyone has things that weigh them down, that cause their shoulders to slump a bit, that makes their backs ache. It’s part of life, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him to share even more of his with the woman he loves.

With the woman who loves him despite everything she’s been through and despite all of the heavy implications that come from her being with him and staying with him, hopefully forever. Despite all of the issues that he has because of his relationship with his family.

Because he also might be in the running for being the biggest asshole in the world.

Neal. Brennan. Killian.

Just like that.

“I saw Milah today,” he starts, not letting Emma say anything or else he’ll stop and not let the words tumble past his lips. He has to let it out. He has to share. He has to...he can’t keep hiding parts of him that he wants Emma to know about even if they’re not pleasant. Seeing the best in each other in spite of knowing the worst and all. “Not in person or anything, but I saw her on the cover of one of those ridiculous magazines when I was going for a run earlier. It was on a newsstand. She’s dating someone else, and it’s splashed across every page because she was my last girlfriend, you know? So all of the headlines are about ‘The Prince’s Ex Finds Love Again. Why hasn’t he?’ Which is so fucking idiotic because I have with you. I love you, but no one knows that. I don’t want them to know that. Not because I’m ashamed of you but because I - “

“Killian,” Emma whispers, her voice barely reaching over the sound of the music loudly humming through the speakers, as he notices her hand on top of his, delicate fingers holding onto the back of his palm. He doesn’t know when in his rambles she put it there, but he shifts his wrist and twines their fingers together, allowing them this connection, before he brings her knuckles to his lips and lingers there.

“Killian,” she says again, and he finally looks up at her and the way that she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, a nervous tick if he’s ever seen one on her. He’s a bloody asshole for making her feel nervous. “We made that decision together, yeah? I’m fine with it and don’t need or want magazines and tabloids to know about us. You know I don’t love when you’re rumored to be dating someone else, but I know it’s not true. You love me, and you tell me that. I don’t need anything else.”

He takes a moment to swallow her words, to allow them to settle. It’s a lot to take in even if he knows all of that. He’s still spiraling a bit, but it’s all fine. It has to be.

“Ems,” Will calls, shocking him out of his thoughts and bringing his attention back to how tightly he’s holding Emma’s hand. His knuckles must be white by now. She twists her head around to look at Will as he shuffles his feet behind her.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to take my break and eat a late supper, okay? Table five probably needs a refresher sometime soon.”

“Got it. I can handle things.”

“Thanks.” He nods his head. “You’re gonna crush her hand there, lover boy.”

“Fuck off, Scarlett.”

“Oi, he’s feisty tonight.”

“You can have a thirty minute break if you don’t piss Killian off anymore.”

“Not sure if it’s worth it.”

Killian chuckles under his breath despite himself. He likes Will. He really does. And he trusts him not to share their relationship with the world. Sometimes, though, there are days where he would give anything to be able to punch Will as hard as he can. This is one of those days even if he knows that Will is simply messing with him.

Maybe because Will is messing with him.

“Will.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sighs, raising his hands in the air before he leans forward and obnoxiously kisses Emma’s cheek, the smacking sound following him as he walks into the kitchen.

Killian’s blood boils beneath his skin, and it takes several deep breaths for his skin to not feel like it’s sweltering. He’s annoyed, but it’ll pass. It has to pass.

“You cannot murder him,” Emma teases, the tenseness in her face having faded to a small smile that’s still a little tight. That’s because of him, and he hates it. “We don’t have enough help around here, and he really likes his job.” When he doesn’t say anything back, she squeezes his hand until her thumb begins rubbing back and forth over his knuckles, the movement further cooling him off and calming him down as his grip loosens. “You want to keep telling me what’s going on? Why do these headlines have you all upset? They don’t usually mess with you like this.”

He clicks his tongue before pressing his lips together. He was going to tell her all of it, but now he’s lost all of his momentum.

He’s definitely indecisive tonight.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, when you feel like talking about it, you know I’m here without question and without fail. I’m going to go check on everyone. Why don’t you go sit in the corner booth? There are a lot of people here tonight, and it’s more secluded over there.”

He nods his head before standing, releasing her hand and walking away. Emma’s right. He should have gone to the corner to begin with. Hell, he should have gone upstairs and lounged in front of the television with David and Mary Margaret, but he seems to always be seeking out Emma.

The pub continues to get busier as the night goes on, so he makes sure to pull his cap down and turn his body away from everyone. He notices Emma dim the lights little by little until it’s a hazy gray, only the slightest bit of yellow glow shining over everyone, and he bides his time by messing with his phone. He’s got plenty of messages and emails to catch up on, and it distracts him from everything to the point where he doesn’t even notice Emma placing a glass of water on the table and then sliding in across from him so that her toes tap against his under the table.

“Alright, sailor,” she sighs, her lips ticking up because of the endearment slipping off of her tongue, “you have been over here brooding for hours now. It’s time to talk to me.”

He looks around and realizes that the place is empty, that there’s no one left. Not even Will. When the hell did it get so late that they’ve closed down? He knows he’s mostly been zoned out, but he should have at least noticed the fact that most of the tables have been wiped down with the chairs stacked on top of them. And he definitely should have noticed that the music has stopped and that Will’s voice no longer remained a constant hum in his ears.

“What time is it?” he stupidly asks as he takes a sip of the water. It doesn’t slip past him that it’s not the rum he asked for hours ago. At least he’s still kind of thinking clearly.

“About fifteen minutes until three, so it’s time for us to go to bed... after you talk to me:”

“I thought you said only to talk to you when I’m ready?”

She raises her right brow. “Are you?”

He takes another sip of his water before putting down his glass, fingers wiping at the condensation. “I’ve been under a thumb for my entire life,” he starts, glancing up at Emma and seeing the understanding in her eyes. There’s such a back and forth happening with her and her emotions, and Killian is still never quite sure what her reaction is going to be. “Every move I’ve made since the actual day I was born has been under a microscope, and the first time I ever had any freedom was when I went to University and was away from my family. So I drank more and went to pubs with my mates. I flirted incessantly with women, and oftentimes I took them home with me so they could warm my bed.”

He sees Emma flinch at that. She tried to hide it, but she couldn’t really. It’s not like either of them think the other is some untouched virgin, but he doesn’t exactly like to think about Neal or one of her one night stands warming her bed either. But it’s real and raw and it all comes back to that baggage thing. They have it, even if sleeping with a practical stranger isn’t some shameful thing.

“And that’s when the stories started,” he continues, his gaze flickering away from Emma to look at the ceiling for a moment. “The first one was true. Her name was Kaitlin, and I did sleep with her. She sold the story to _The Sun_ , and I never saw her again. The next ten stories? Not at all true, but that didn’t matter. Once that first one started, any of them could be plausible. And I was young and idiotic, so I kept going to pubs and sleeping with women because not all of them sold the stories, you know? Some of them didn’t know who I was, some of them didn’t care, and some of them probably only cared that one day they’d get to say that they slept or flirted with a prince.”

God, he hates his title.

He looks at Emma again and smiles, his lips ticking up on the right side. Her face is completely neutral, lips pressed together in a thin line and eyes barely rounded. He doesn’t know how she feels about any of that, and he’s a little scared to find out. She knows some of this. It’s not as if they’ve never talked about his past outside of his emotional history with his family. But he never did tell her about Kaitlin or the others. He only told her a little about Milah when it seemed right.

Sometimes the hard conversations don’t come up naturally, and they don’t happen until it’s far too late.

“Love?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking?”

She shrugs her shoulders, her face still impassive. “I was thinking about how much I hate all of those women for what they did to you, for how they took advantage of you.”

“You don’t have to hate them.”

“I do though. I mean...I guess,” she stutters, taking a sip of her own water. “I don’t hate them. I don’t like them, but I don’t hate them. You’re this great, wonderfully kind guy who anyone would be lucky to know. I love you, and I don’t like that there are people who have taken advantage of your heart like that. It’s fucked up.”

“Aye,” he laughs, the chuckle dark. “It is, but it’s been my life, you know? I’ve been taken advantage of by people I’m close to, friends and family. Probably especially my family. I think that’s one of the reasons I love our relationship. It’s not...Emma I have trusted you from the day I walked in this place soaking wet and you didn’t make a big deal about who I am. You simply told me to get my ass out of the seat and gave me a change of clothes. You don’t care who I am, and you’re the first woman who has ever reacted to me like that.”

“You’re Killian, my obnoxious asshole of a boyfriend who ate all of my pop-tarts last week.”

He actually chuckles at that, the laughter rumbling through his stomach as he reaches his hand out on the table and silently asks for hers so he can thread their fingers together like he did earlier.

It makes him feel better, safer than he has felt all day.

“I’ll get you a new box tomorrow...or today I guess.”

“Thank you.” She squeezes his hand, and his heart squeezes like the dramatic fool that he is.

“So tell me about Milah. That’s where I assume this is going because of the magazines.”

“Very perceptive, you are.”

“Okay, Yoda.”

“Not referencing something, but I like that you think I am.”

“Always.”

He smiles at her again, smiles at how she can be so light sometimes when other times she can’t talk to him because of a heaviness in her heart. “Milah was the first truly serious woman I dated. We met in an art history class, and she did this perfect impression of the professor. She was my first real love, and I would have done anything for her. I nearly did do anything for her. She was...she was amazing. She was witty and wild and always ready to go on some kind of adventure with me. We’d been together for a year, and I thought we’d be together for many more.”

“And then she started selling stories about you, too,” Emma finishes for him as her thumb never stops caressing his knuckles and making his heart hitch, several beats skipping at a time when all he was focusing on was his heartbreak.”

“She did. She was a journalist, had been the entire time, and the bloody paper hired her to seduce me so that she could give any and all inside information on me or on my family. How crazy is that? I’m a freaking figurehead who does some charity work, and there are people being hired to fall in love with me for a story like that movie you made me watch the other day.”

“How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days.”

“That’s the one.”

He runs his free hand through his hair, tugging at the strands hard enough to pull, and he can barely keep his skin from overheating again. He’s covered in goose flesh, all of his hair standing on its ends.

“What she did was wrong,” Emma sighs, her words matter of fact.

“But I still loved her,” he quietly admits, almost ashamed of the words. “Really, really loved her. And it’s so difficult to understand that. She said that she loved me, too, that she actually fell for me when she got to know me, but why did she sell the stories, you know? If she loved me she wouldn’t have done that, and I don’t know how to reconcile that. I don’t know how to deal with that even though I’ve moved on, especially having to be constantly reminded of these things when I’m running down a street.”

A puff of air passes through Emma’s lips before she leans forward to speak, their hands still together on the center of the table. “I’m going to tell you what my dad told me after Neal, okay? Because I loved him too. Despite everything, after all of that, after all of the shit he put me through, I still loved him. I was on trial for a crime he accused me of committing, and a part of me still loved him. He betrayed me in such an awful way, and you know that I still hurt over it.”

“I do. I’m sorry.”

Emma nods her head up and down before she peers into his eyes, the emerald green practically drilling a hole through his skin. She’s making sure that he looks at her when she speaks, and he knows not to look away.

“Just because she hurt you and used you doesn’t make the love you felt for her any less real.

To you it was, and you’re allowed to grieve that. You’re allowed to both treasure that relationship and be hurt by it. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

“Your dad said that?”

“It’s a David Nolan speech, yeah,” she confirms, her teeth showing under her smile. “I’m pretty sure he also told me that Neal was an undeniable douchebag who didn’t deserve to so much as breathe the same air as me, but that didn’t really seem to be what you needed right now.”

“I would have been okay with that.”

Emma laughs a little bit, the sound wafting through the empty pub. “Me too. I know that it hurts to see her face, to have to be reminded of something that hurt you. I get it. You know I do, and if you want to have a day and bash her to me, I’m all for it. But you did get love out of that relationship, if only for a little while, and that’s a good thing. We all have baggage, and you help me carry mine. I can help you carry yours or this relationship is nothing more than some really good sex, and that’s not a relationship.”

His heart practically breaks through his ribcage with how quickly it’s beating. Those are the exact words he thought earlier. They’re a common turn of phrase, but still. She’s echoing things he’s been trying to convince himself of, and it only makes him feel more reassured of everything Emma just said.

“I love you,” he whispers when he can’t think of anything else to say. “You’re just...you’re amazing, Emma.”

“I know.”

He barks out a laugh, the confidence in her voice never failing to amaze him

“I love you,” she continues, releasing his hand and getting up to slide into his side of the booth, something she only does when she’s about to kiss him. She doesn’t quite yet but she does lean into his side and rest her head on his shoulder as their thighs press together and her fingers fall to his upper thigh, probably a bit too high for the conversation they’re having. “You are such a good man who has so much love to give to others, and you keep doing it despite being betrayed so many times. That’s a brave thing to do, and I’m proud of you for it.”

“You’re too kind to me, lass.”

“I could say the same about you.”

A shiver runs down his spine as she traces her nail in a circle over his thigh, inching closer and closer to his hip. “So I’m not crazy for being upset?”

“You’re not crazy for being upset, no. I know feelings aren’t really a thing in your family, but they are for us here even if I’m all prickly sometimes.”

“Only with people you don’t know. And sometimes you are with me. I mean, the first time we met you - “

“Hey,” she scoffs, hitting his leg, “you just said that our first meeting was a good one. You can’t take that back now.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” he promises, twisting his head to the side and kissing her temple, the saltiness of her skin after a long night at work reaching his lips. “It was a good one. You were very kind but also a little prickly, and I was a goner from the day that I had to wear your father’s sweats.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“They were comfortable. If they hadn’t been, well, I might not have kept coming back.”

“So it wasn’t that hot blonde and the alcohol that brought you back?”

“Hot blonde? Somebody is confident about their looks.”

“You called me that,” she laughs, twisting in the booth and kneeing him in the side as she shuffles around to straddle his thighs, her back resting against the table while her hands cup his face. His fingers have grasped onto her hips, pulling her closer as he feels the soft skin above the waistband of her jeans. He can feel the muscles of her stomach twitch.

“Did I? I don’t recall, though you are a rather attractive woman, so I can see myself complimenting you on how you look.”

She hums as her lips part and a full smile forms on her face, all of her teeth on display while her eyes crinkle the slightest bit. She’s beautiful, and he should tell her that more often.

He’ll have to do that.

“I promise that you did,” she mumbles, dipping her head down to run her lips against his jaw, nibbling on the skin as another shiver runs down his spine, each vertebra seemingly vibrating. This makes him feel so much better than he was feeling earlier. The talk probably did that too. Emma being there for him and not judging him definitely helped. “You’re a hot brunette, so it’s okay.”

He chuckles at that before twisting his head so he can find Emma’s lips with his, capturing her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. It’s simply lips against lips for a moment before Emma’s fingers card into his hair and tug a little while her teeth nibble at his bottom lip. He hears his groan come from the back of his throat, but he’s mostly focused on Emma’s little whimper and how his pants are tightening the slightest bit. She rolls her hips into his, and his tongue slides past her lips so that it can tangle with hers in a slick slide that has all of his gooseflesh returning. He could do this with her for hours. He wants to. He wants to stay holed up under the dim lights of this room with her for a long, long time.

“Are your pants feeling a little tight there?” she gasps into his mouth, their lips still so close that they brush each other when she talks, as she keeps grinding herself against him.

“That’s an odd way to ask if you’re arousing me.”

“I know,” she laughs, her hands falling from his scalp to his cheeks, “but I just wanted to let you know that if you come upstairs with me tonight, you can borrow a pair of dad’s sweatpants since that was apparently such a big selling point for you.”

His hands gently slap at her sides while he takes the opportunity to nip at her lip, soothing the sting with his tongue as he tries not to laugh.

“Well, how could I ever pass up an offer like that?”

-/-

-/-

**June 8th, 2018**

May fades into June in the blink of an eye and a battering of hard rain has left London feeling a bit gloomier than it usually does.

At least, that’s how Killian would like to describe the past three weeks, but in actuality, these may be the longest three weeks of his life - longer even than the three weeks he spent in North America away from Emma when they were going through one of the worst rough patches of their relationship. He thinks that here and now far outranks any fight they ever had in the past, and there were ones that Killian wasn’t sure they’d come back from.

His heart aches to think about those.

Hell, it more than aches. It’s like repeated punches in the gut that don’t stop until he’s on the ground curled up in a ball and cannot breathe any longer because any will that he has to get up and fight again has been completely and totally knocked out of him.

He’s always thought of himself as a survivor, but he can only have so many chances.

It kind of feels like he’s using up all of those metaphorical lives in attempts that aren’t even any good.

Twenty-two days have passed since the lunch where his family met Emma, and twenty-two days have passed since Killian has spoken to Brennan. It’s certainly not the longest they’ve gone without speaking, but there’s usually not such a heavy weight pressing down on Killian’s shoulders that has him waking up in the middle of the night with sweat dripping down his back and his heart frantically beating.

This much anxiousness has never been involved.

Even as an adult, Brennan still has so much power over Killian. Brennan can help to control his finances, his work, and who Killian can marry. He can’t marry without his father’s permission, not with how the laws are now, and the ring design that Killian drew up a year ago probably won’t ever get to be made if the situation doesn’t change.

If Brennan doesn’t decide to get the stick out of his ass or if Killian doesn’t decide to leave his family, at least officially.

He meant it when he promised that. He would leave his family for Emma, but actually thinking about that shakes Killian to the bone. What would he do? Where would he live? Is there any way to put to use his History degree and an almost purely ceremonial career in the Navy? All Killian knows how to do is to help aid charities and give speeches, and he’s got an entire team of people surrounding him who help him with that.

Has he always been this useless?

Killian failed at protecting Emma from his family and the media before they could prepare for this, and without even starting, he’s already failing at being able to be a functioning human being outside of his family.

Leaving his family, leaving the pressure and fame and attempting to fade off into the distance, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world - it might just be everything he’s always wanted - but he honestly can’t imagine leaving his mother like that.

She has always been the one who has kept him holding on. Alexander too.

But what about Emma?

“Earth to Killian,” Ariel sing-songs as she knocks her knuckles against his head. He blinks several times, mostly because he’s nearly positive that she poked him in the eye, before she comes back into view staring at him from across his kitchen table. “Have you been listening to a single word that I said?”

“Uh.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I heard something about needing to look at a press statement, but that whole thing is bullocks when we know my father won’t approve anything I say. He’s rejected every request.”

“He accepted that one about you apologizing for your choice of words outside of the pub.” Killian rolls his eyes, and Ariel raises her hands in apology. “Your father is being a bit...stubborn. I will admit that, and I only say it that nicely because I swear that these walls have ears, and I don’t want to get fired. But I think he just needs a little time. We’re kind of in crisis mode here, and he’s having to deal with the brunt of it.”

“Are you honestly defending him, A?” Killian scoffs as he reaches over the table to grab his mug of tea, wishing that it was spiked. “You have been my closest friend since university, my public relations secretary for the past four years, and you’re going to defend Brennan to me? You know exactly how much shit he and Liam have put me through. I expected more from you.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of expected you to trust me enough to tell me that you were very seriously dating someone.”

Oh.

Killian was waiting for this, too, to blow up in his face. He was. And it’s his fault. His concerns have lain solely with Emma and making sure that she and her family are doing as best as they can. He’s neglected the parts of his life outside of Emma. He’s neglected Ariel and Eric. He’s neglected Robin. They’re all hurting because of him, and Killian loathes himself for it.

There are so many things that he should have changed about his past, but the bloody clock doesn’t exactly turn around.

What he would give to have a couple hundred years to figure all of this out.

And maybe to ask for forgiveness from everyone he’s hurt.

At least Ariel is talking to him. Ruby still isn’t talking to Emma, and he can see how much that’s affecting her. Emma has spent the past week with her parents lounging around in her pajamas and not bothering to do much else unless absolutely necessary. She saw all of the articles online, and then asked for space.

Space wasn’t exactly his idea of what would help things, but here they are.

“I’m sorry, Ariel,” Killian apologizes, smiling at her with what has to be his most sincere smile. “I truly am, but you have to understand the situation. We couldn’t...it simply wouldn’t have worked for the two of us to have a public relationship. We couldn’t risk someone finding out before Emma was comfortable, you know? God, A.” Killian blinks up at the ceiling as he runs his hand through his hair. “I knew from the first night that I met her that Emma was special. I knew, and I wasn’t going to let anything mess it up. We should have told our friends sooner, but it was never supposed to blow up like this. You were all supposed to know in a different way.”

Killian attempts to swallow the emotions that are stuck in his throat, the ones that can’t seem to go away lately, and they don’t go down, especially when Ariel reaches across the table and places her hand over his, squeezing the slightest bit. He doesn’t deserve someone like her to be here for him.

He doesn’t deserve a lot of the people in his life.

“I know, darling,” Ariel sighs, a comforting smile on her lips. “I completely and totally understand that. You haven’t let me meet Emma yet, but I know that you love her. I would do anything to protect my relationship with Eric, and we don’t have a past like the two of you have. I mean, with Milah and Emma and...wait.”

“What?” he asks as he tries to figure out why Ariel suddenly just stopped talking to purse her lips together and tap her pen against the table. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing. It’s…” Ariel taps her pen again, and the clacking sound is so obnoxious that he’s nearly ready to chunk the entire thing out the window. “How exactly did this leak to the press? I should know that. That’s my job. But I’ve been so busy handling everything else and feeling like I’m juggling too many balls to really stop and think about how this happened. You don’t think - ”

“A, I love you, but if you so much as suggest that Emma leaked our relationship, I will ask you to never come back to this apartment.”

Ariel raises her hands in the air once more. “Was not at all suggesting that. I don’t think she would do that. After Milah and what she did, I thought most anything was possible when it came to your girlfriends and the press, but you’re intelligent enough not to be dating someone who is going to sell you out again. She would have done it earlier too. Can you remind me who all knew?”

“Emma, her parents, the bartender at the pub, and August.”

“It was probably the bartender.”

“No.” Killian shakes his head. “It wouldn’t have been Scarlet. I can guarantee that. I think it must have been a patron at the pub who saw us and then reported my location. We were always as discreet as possible, but it’s not like I was in some kind of complex disguise.”

Ariel hums across from him before looking back down at the papers in front of her and scribbling something down. “I’m going to look into it, okay? You’re probably right with it being a patron, but I need to be sure before more information leaks. This is already a lot to deal with, and we don’t need more of your life getting out.”

“Because of my emotions or because it’ll make your job harder?”

“It’s making my job more difficult, obviously.” She scribbles something down again, and Killian idly wonders what it must be like to be a fly on the wall inside of Ariel’s mind. “And I want you to call your girlfriend and have her come back to stay with you because you’ve got these big sad eyes going and I’m not a fan of them.”

“I bloody well do not have sad eyes.”

Ariel’s eyes roll. “You do. I had forgotten what it was like when you’re in love and not having a great time with your girlfriend. You get mopey.”

Killian sighs, letting his shoulders deflate as he leans back into the chair and tilts his head up to the ceiling to look directly into the chandelier over the table. “Tomorrow is our anniversary, and she’s supposed to come over then. She said something about working in the pub tonight.”

“How is she working in the pub? Isn’t it kind of crazy there?”

“I’ve arranged for August to go over to control a bit of the crowd most nights on my pay. They can’t afford not to be open, so they’ve been opening up for the past two weeks. Emma simply hasn’t worked.”

“I’ll work on figuring something out for that, too,” Ariel tells him as she opens up her laptop. “And I am meeting her. Don’t think you can get out of that.”

“I would never.”

Ariel leaves in the late afternoon, and by the time that she does, Killian’s vision is blurred from having to read over statements and sign documents. By the end, he’s not even entirely sure what he signed, but it’s too late to change things like that now. The odd thing about it all, though, is that he’s not happy with the fact that Ariel is gone. He’d prefer to be able to work all afternoon and be distracted by signing contracts and thank you cards or changing the words on the statements that Ariel writes up.

Without Ariel here, Killian is utterly and completely alone.

That’s not an uncommon feeling, not really. He’s more than used to it, but before Emma went back to stay with her parents, she’d been staying with him. They’d gotten to be able to spend time together, just the two of them with no one else lurking in the hallways, and it had been glorious despite the fact that they were both still adjusting to this massive shift in their lives.

The adjusting hasn’t quite stopped.

Killian pulls out his phone to check text messages, hoping that Emma has texted him, but instead he sees several news article taglines listed across his phone screen over a picture of Emma with her head thrown back in laughter.

“ _Emma Nolan is a Criminal_.”

“ _The Most Eligible Bachelor in the World is Taken_.”

“ _Looking Behind Bars: Who is Emma Nolan?_ ”

“ _Has the British Monarchy Completely Lost Touch?_ ”

“ _Why Prince Killian’s Relationship Won’t Last_.”

“ _35 Reactions to the News of Prince Killian Dating_.”

Killian can’t decide whether or not to laugh or to allow his blood to boil. He shouldn’t be checking these articles. It’s ridiculous, and he knows better. He cannot begin to count how many times he told Emma not to check for her own sanity. When she did, he had to bite back his tongue so that he didn’t say that she should have listened to him. She should have, but Killian gets it. He’s been used to articles being written about him for his entire life, and he still falls into the temptation.

His phone screen is proof of that.

Quickly, he types in his passcode and swipes all of the articles away. He may look at the titles, but he’s not going to read them.

That’s torturing himself even if all of them weren’t bad.

The horrible ones seem to stay longer than funny articles with teenagers tweeting about him.

Killian needs to get out of the apartment and work out some of his nervous energy before he implodes.

Walking upstairs, Killian turns to his bedroom, quickly grabbing his trainers and changing into a pair of his joggers and a t-shirt so that he can run. He should stay inside and run on the treadmill, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to be out and let his anger disappear as his legs burn and his eyes take in the gardens outside of his home. He needs the change of scenery, and he needs it now.

It’s been a hell of a week, and Killian doesn’t know how to deal with it all otherwise.

It’s a slow jog at the beginning. He can feel his muscles groaning with a lack of use, little pulls and annoyances popping up as his feet hit against cobblestone pathway after cobblestone pathway until the path changes to flat cement and the gates around him change from private to public. Every part of him knows that he should have stayed inside the private gates for his run, but there’s something freeing about having music blaring in his ears while his feet keep moving beneath him without high walls crowding him in.

Killian needs to be free, even if it’s only for an hour.

An hour is more than he used to get.

There aren’t many people walking in the park, all of the tourists having obviously already visited today, but that works for him. People have been packing into the gardens lately in an attempt to get a glimpse at him and at Emma, so having so few people here has got to be the closest thing to a blessing that he can think of.

That and the fact that his legs are still working when the punches keep being thrown.

Fuck, he hopes that Emma is going to be okay.

He hopes that they’re going to be okay.

But no, he doesn’t want to think about Emma, not right now. She asked for space and time, just for a week, and it’s not as if they haven’t spoken to each other. They have, but it hasn’t been their normal type of communication.

As sweat drips down his back and under the hat on top of his head to soak his hair, Killian tries to block out every noise and sound and negative thought. He doesn’t want to think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other, and after awhile, that’s all there is rattling around in his brain.

At least, so he thinks until Killian looks in front of him and realizes that he’s run right to his brother’s front door.

Bloody hell.

Why is he here?

Air escapes his lungs as Killian bends over in front of the imposing black doors, and he has to remind himself to stand up and stretch, to make himself bigger instead of smaller. It’s not an easy reminder, even when it comes to catching his breath, because he has never been known to make himself larger when it comes to Liam.

Never.

Maybe it’s time to change that.

Or maybe it’s time to cower away and quickly go home so that he doesn’t have the chance to screw anything else up.

“Killian?”

Shit.

He spins on his heels to turn around and see Elsa standing inside the doorway to their apartment in jeans and a white blouse that hugs her slightly curved stomach, her feet bare of shoes and her hair folded into one of the intricate braids that she and Emma always both seem to be wearing.

“Hello, love,” he greets as his hand reaches up to wipe off some of the sweat on his brow. “What are you doing?”

She arches her brow. “What am I doing? Standing inside of my home? What are you doing?”

“Running.”

Elsa laughs and opens the front door a little wider. “Why don’t you come inside so that I can get you a bottle of water? Liam is getting Alex ready to go to bed. He didn’t want my help tonight, apparently.”

Killian looks to the sides as if someone is going to keep him from going inside, but there’s no savior waiting for him. He can either go inside or walk away and look like a complete and total asshole to a woman he loves.

“How could that rascal not want your help?” Killian asks as he wipes his hand against his shirt and steps up to the door so that he can walk inside to follow Elsa.

Despite living close to each other, Killian doesn’t come to their apartment too often. It doesn’t feel natural to come calling on the two of them, so he’s not used to the deep hardwood that is under his feet and the paintings mixed in with family portraits that are lining the halls. All at once, it reminds him of both living in Buckingham and his own home with the mix of far too plush and comfortable. The toys littering the hallways that Elsa keeps bending down to pick up makes him feel the tiniest bit more comfortable.

This is a home.

This is where Elsa and Liam live with their son. It’s where they have all of these good memories together, ones that Killian has always wished to have with someone, with Emma, and he has a difficult time reconciling all of this with the memories and feelings that he associates with Liam.

He’s not...his brother isn’t all bad. There are moments when they get along, when they can laugh and tease each other, especially in the past few years, but then something snaps and all Killian can think about is their history and the bad blood that has always run between them.

Old memories of growing older with a condescending older brother who lectured him on his life choices and recent memories of him judging Emma and not even giving her a chance all coming to the surface. They’re so damn messed up in this family, and he has no idea how to fix any of it.

Since when does he want to?

“So what have you been up to today?” Elsa questions as they turn the corner and walk into the kitchen, Elsa opening the refrigerator and pulling out two bottles of water.

“Work, mostly,” he admits, taking the bottle and twisting the top off. “Ariel came over, we went over some more statements, I signed a hell of a lot of papers, and then I went running to...release some of my frustrations.”

Elsa nods her head and settles down across from him on the barstool. “Frustrations with your dad? Emma? Liam? Me?”

“One of those is not like the other.” Killian reaches up to scratch behind his ear before taking a sip of water, having to keep himself from gulping it down. “I’m frustrated with myself, I think. It’s taken me this long to start standing up for myself to people who have made my life a living hell. Things might be different if I had. Things might be...better. Maybe I wouldn’t think your husband is such an asshole if we’d worked out our issues earlier.”

“Liam,” she starts, her eyes darting to the french doors that lead into the kitchen, “is complicated. I’ve always understood that my perspective of him is different than yours. The way we are together is different.”

“I’d damn well hope so.”

Elsa laughs at his joke before reaching to grab her water, tilting it up to take a sip. “He’s not a bad guy, Killian. You may hate me for saying that, but he’s not. I don’t agree with a lot of what he says and does, but I also get to see him behind the scenes when he struggles over his relationship with you. He’s been so controlled by your father for most of his life, and it’s difficult for him to see another point of view.”

“I get that, but how am I supposed to forgive someone who has treated me worse than a bloody horse’s ass for all of my life?”

She shrugs. “You’re not. If I had treated Anna the way that Liam has treated you, I’m sure she wouldn’t have forgiven me. People are bastards, every one of us except for my babies, and not all of us deserve forgiveness. If you don’t want to forgive your brother or your dad, I say screw them. You don’t have to.”

Killian scoffs in complete disbelief as a chill runs down his spine, his warmed skin cooling off as the sweaty clothes begin to stick to his body. “Are you honestly giving me approval to hold a grudge against your husband for the rest of our lives?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“You’re horrible at giving advice.”

“I actually think that I’m brilliant, darling.” She takes another sip of water before straightening her posture on her stool. “Believe it or not, I’ve put up with a lot of shit. Dating your brother wasn’t easy, and not simply because he can be a bit of an ass. I have had the eyes of the world on me since we first stepped out after having dinner together eight years ago. I had grown up around people like your family, was raised to know exactly how to act and what to expect, but it was still shocking. Nothing prepares you for this life. So I can at least partially understand how you feel and how Emma feels. It’s not the same, but I think that Liam and I would gladly say that we’re both here to help. I would have texted Emma to offer help to her, but I didn’t want to overstep.”

Killian reaches over to place his hand over Elsa’s, her small palm disappearing under his as his lips twitch up to the sides. “It’s not overstepping. I think Emma really took to you, and she’d likely be open to that. I’m not sure about Liam, though.”

“I understand. I - ”

“Little brother,” Liam bellows as the kitchen doors open and he walks inside, water splashed all down the front of his shirt, most likely from Alex’s bath. “Did I know that you were coming over?”

Killian quickly glances to Elsa, silently asking what he should say, but all she does is pick up her bottle to cover her mouth. Cheeky lass.

“Younger brother,” he corrects, forcing himself not to get immediately irritated, “I was out running, and I decided to stop by at the last minute. I’ve been draining your water supply.”

Liam walks further into the room, passing by Elsa and tenderly kissing the top of her head before sitting down on the stool next to him. “I think I’ll survive. You just missed Alex. The boy kept splashing me with water in the tub, though I think I’m still a bit drier than you.”

“Did he go down easy?” Elsa questions.

“Yeah, sweetheart, he did. Would you like to stay for dinner, Killian? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Dad. I know that’s not exactly your favorite subject but - ”

Killian holds his hand up to stop Liam from talking. “If you’re going to defend him, don’t. I’ve had enough of that. There are no excuses for how he treated me or Emma. For fuck’s sakes, there’s no excuse for how he treated Mum. I know your relationship is different from my relationship with him, but I can’t hear anyone else defend his actions. Not today.”

“Little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian snaps. God, he hates that name. “It’s fucking obnoxious that you call me little brother. I’m a grown man. Just...I’m sorry,” he apologizes as he takes one last sip of his water. “I’m not ready to talk to you tonight, Liam. I thought I might be, but I don’t think that I am. I will talk to the two of you later. Thanks for the water, Elsa.”

He turns and walks away, his heart pounding like it never has before, he can feel his entire body flaming in heat again. Killian doesn’t know what he expected when he walked into this house, but this certainly wasn’t it. Elsa can calm him down so easily while Liam riles him up, and Killian simply isn’t ready to forgive Liam. Not yet. He needs more time and more from his brother.

(He had no idea he was going to react like that.)

Things have shifted, their relationship moving into uncharted territory, but Killian isn’t ready. His heart can’t give out forgiveness when he’s still so angry. Maybe it is the truth that Liam is sorry for a lot of the things that he has done, that he has seen the error in his ways and that he wants to help.

Nothing is ever that easy.

At least, not for him.

Liam was his hero for a long time, someone he wanted to emulate, but heroes fall. It’s difficult to come to terms with them being somewhere between the pedestal and rock bottom, and Killian is feeling a little dizzy with it all.

When he walks up to the front door of his apartment, Emma is sitting on the bench outside, two bags of her things sitting next to her, and she’s staring down at her phone, thumb unmoving.

“Swan,” he breathes out as he blinks enough times to make sure that it’s real, that she’s here.

Emma’s head jolts up, unruly hair flying in her face, and her lips part in surprise before she drops her phone to the bench and stands up and brushes away imaginary dirt from her jeans.

“Hi. I, um, I…I know that I was supposed to come over tomorrow, but it felt wrong, you know? Things are weird, and I don’t know what to do. I just - ”

Killian takes several steps forward and wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him so that he can bury his nose in her hair and her shoulder, breathing in the smell of the sweet flowers of her perfume and her hair, the scent that’s been lingering on the pillows in his bedroom but slowly fading away.

“I don’t care why you’re here, love. Just that you are.”

Emma nods her head against him, hugging him a little closer than she should considering how bad he likely smells. “Everything is so weird, and I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

“I don’t either.”

He can feel the chuckle move through her chest and over to his. “You’re supposed to be the one who knows how to handle this. I am not...Killian, I’m not someone meant to live like this. I can’t spend the rest of my life under this much scrutiny. I can’t live with your entire family hating me. How am I supposed to function like this?”

His hand rubs up and down her back in hopes that it will bring her comfort and that maybe it will do the same to him. He needs her, needs her a hell of a lot, and he has no idea what to tell her.

Pulling back, Killian looks down at Emma’s face under the lamplight outside of his building while temperatures continue to dip outside. She looks the same as always, beautiful as ever, but the heaviness in her shoulders isn’t something he’s seen in a long time.

“You love me, aye?”

A small smile curls across her lips, a little bit of hope and sadness mixed together. “Sometimes,” she jokes. “I do love you, despite my best interests.”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head from side to side. “I love you, have loved you for five years, and that’s never going to change. I don’t know where we go from here, Emma. I don’t. There are so many damn moving factors here, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I ask is that you give me a shot to figure things out without you crawling back to your parents and avoiding me.”

“I want us to work. I love you too much for us to not work out. I,” she sighs, the small smile still gracing her lips, “I’m vulnerable right now, and you know that I don’t like being vulnerable.”

“I know,” he tells her before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll never stop fighting for us. We won’t let the bastards keep us down.”

Emma laughs, something lighter than the conversation they’ve been having, before pulling back from his embrace and turning around to grab her bags. “I think I want to be normal tonight. I want to drink beer and eat pizza and yell at sports on the TV before we make out and I leave a really gross hickey on your neck. Do you think we can do that?”

“Trust me, love, I know that we can do that. Normal sounds like the best thing in the world right about now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I sense a little bit of calm coming? Whew. Thank goodness for that, right? 😘


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent, like, forever working on this story, and I guess I can't quite believe we're already on chapter six. I guess posting twice a week on a 15 chapter story will do that to you. lol. Oh, speaking of that, the main story is actually 13 chapters, and then we've got a two part epilogue to honor the original, which has the epilogue of all epilogues. 😂😂😂
> 
> Anyway, you guys reading really mean a lot, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's one of my favorites!

**June 15th, 2018.**

Killian has a scar on his stomach, just above his hip bone and right outside of the thatches of hair that cover the expanse of his chest and his stomach. He doesn’t know where he got it. At least, that’s what he said when she asked the first time she noticed it and had a little bit of time to examine it. It’s almost a lightning bolt, one right out of Harry Potter, and Emma has made no less than one hundred jokes about Killian secretly being Harry Potter since that day.

It’s her scar, she likes to think. No one else gets to brush their lips over it or trace the pattern with the tips of their nails. No one but Emma.

She’s not a jealous person, no more than most people are, and Emma likes to think that her being a little possessive over the scar is nothing more than a reminder that this man, so beautiful and broken, has given a little bit of his brokenness for her to hold onto.

What an incredible honor.

One she likely doesn’t deserve but one she has anyways. It’s a weird life that she leads, and so much of it is in a swirl of chaos right now, bits and pieces being torn away from her and thrown in directions she doesn’t have a map to. But the scar and all of its little jagged edges, she has a map to it. She knows just how and where it curves, and nothing about the scar is ever going to change.

It’s permanent.

“Your feet are horribly cold,” Killian mumbles, his voice thick with sleep despite it being the middle of the day and the sun shining through the gaps in the curtains in Killian’s bedroom. “I figured by now I’d be used to it, but I’m simply not. They’re bloody icicles.”

Emma traces her finger above the scar that’s exposed from their lack of blanket before moving her hand and curling herself into Killian, making sure that she moves her feet up and down his calves, much to his dismay. “I can’t help it that they’re cold.”

Killian shifts his arm underneath her head and tugs her a little closer while the scruff on his chin brushes against her forehead before she feels the softness of his lips linger there. “You could wear socks when we sleep.”

“I do. Sometimes.”

He hums in response, shifting a little bit more until Emma twists further on her side and tucks herself more into Killian, resting her ear against his chest so that she can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat and lazily slinging her arm over his stomach all the while her toes wiggle between his calves. Killian grumbles something about that, probably a cursed complaint, but she doesn’t really care. It’s been so long since they’ve gotten to simply be together, to spend time with no one interrupting and no one around them to fill their heads with nasty thoughts, and she couldn’t care less that Killian hates her cold feet.

(Some of that distance was her fault, and she knows it.)

Her feet freezing between his calves and his heart beating under her ear simply means that they get to be in the same place.

“Not enough of the time,” Killian whispers as his hand tangles into her hair and works out the tangles. “You should wear them every time you get into bed.”

“Every time?”

“Every single time.”

Emma twists her head to the side and presses her lips against his chest before burying her smile there. “So, in this scenario where I wear socks every time that I get into bed, does that include when we’re having sex? Because we’re mostly in bed for that, and I think it would be really attractive to be wearing nothing but a pair of socks with, like, cookies on them or something.”

Killian scoffs against her forehead, tugging on her hair the slightest bit, and Emma shuts her eyes and buries her nose into his chest as it continues to rise and fall. “I feel like my request may need a little more planning.”

“Oh no, it’s fine just how it is. I think I’ll get some of those hospital socks that have the gripping on the bottom. That way I don’t slip.”

She hears a snort, quite possibly the worst noise that she’s ever heard in her life, and Emma just loses it. She loses it and can’t keep herself from laughing, her entire body shaking with the joy as she thinks about Killian’s snort and the idea of her wearing hospital socks while they have sex. It’s ridiculous and stupid and quite possibly the funniest things she’s heard in weeks. When she twists her head away from Killian’s chest to look up at him, she can see that he’s laughing too, his eyes closed with little lines around them and the corners of his mouth tilting upward.

They’ve lost their minds.

They have.

There’s no other way around it, but it also really doesn’t matter. With how hard things have been lately, the two of them deserve laughing over dumb things until their stomach hurts every time they move.

They deserve this.

“Darling,” Killian chuckles, his breath stilted and his chin turned up toward the ceiling while Emme drags her lips across the hollow his throat, “if you - if you wear bloody hospital socks, I’ll -”

“You’ll what?” she murmurs, the smile on her face too much to control.

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Well, that certainly wasn’t very threatening.”

“My mind is too busy conjuring up an image of this to truly be able to think.”

“Okay, okay,” Emma sighs as she pulls herself away from Killian to sit up on the bed, the comforter shifting around her so that the chill air of the ceiling fan wafts down to touch the uncovered skin from her camisole. “So in this scenario, are you imagining my body naked and then the socks or the socks and then my body naked? The order is important.”

Killian props himself up on his elbows as his brows furrow together. “Why is that important?”

“Because it is.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

His eyes roll, but the smile stays there as he reaches his hands forward to grab onto hers, pulling her forward until she’s straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs pressing into the mattress. Emma releases his hand to reach forward and push his hair off of his forehead in a pathetic attempt to tame it while the light shines down half of his face, sunshine picking up the lightest specks of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“I love you,” she says quietly as her hand keeps moving through his hair and her heart swells within her, happiness continuing to warm her, even her feet.

Killian’s lips twitch up to the right, and the crinkles around his eyes become a little more prominent. She really loves those crinkles. “I love you, Emma. I don’t think words can truly express how much.”

“Even if I wear hospital socks during sex?”

“Especially if you wear hospital socks during sex.”

There’s laughter on Killian’s lips when she kisses him. It’s almost as if she can feel the joy and the happiness and the undeniable calm that’s come from the two of them spending a few days together without dealing with any of their problems. There’s laughter on his lips and in his eyes, and Emma feels the warmth in Killian’s body as they break their kiss, if only for a moment, for her to pull her camisole up over her shoulders until she’s bare and leaning into him, chest hair brushing into her nipples in a way that feels so damn good that she can scarcely breathe.

Any chill that covered her body, any coldness from the temperature of the room, goes away as heat simmers over her skin, building and building with every hot swirl of Killian’s tongue against hers and every caress of his hand over her body so that he’s made sure to touch almost every inch of her when they really haven’t even moved from the original position.

None of that matters. Sometimes with Killian it’s as if life stands still. Inside of these four walls is all that exists, and the madness happening outside is all some kind of fever dream. All Emma has to focus on is the way that Killian dips his tongue into the hollow space between her collarbone, making a moan escape her lips and causing her hips to roll against his where she can feel the hardening of his erection. It’s just the two of them and the way that Killian flips Emma over onto her back, the mattress soft beneath her as Killian’s lips trace down her sternum, taking a pit stop or two to lavish her breasts until she’s absolutely writhing beneath him.

It’s always different between them, in a way at least. Sometimes she’s the one to take charge, the one to trail her lips across Killian’s neck and down his stomach - spending time with his scar, her scar - before taking him in her mouth, listening to the filthy, desperate noises that he makes. Sometimes, much like now, it’s Killian that takes charge. He takes his time in treasuring her and cherishing her and making sure that she understands just how much he loves her by spending time with his head between her thighs or thrusting into her in a slow, rhythmic pattern to drive her into madness, holding her pleasure at the end of a tightrope. Sometimes it’s fast and messy and a little uncomfortable against the kitchen countertop or on the couch, a remote digging into her bare back, and other times it’s slow and careful, meaning and love and so much dedication and care written into each kiss and put into each thrust.

It’s always different.

But the one thing that’s always the same is that Emma has never felt more loved by anyone than she feels loved by Killian.

Every move that he makes, even the ones fueled by carnal desires and a desperate need to relieve the tension radiating over his body, is one that she understands is fueled by pure, genuine affection that nearly makes her heart ache with how much she feels it. She’s gotten better with words and feelings after being with Killian for so long, but there are times when she reverts back to how she was. There are times when she’s uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to do or say or how exactly to express how much she loves him.

So she tries to tell him now as the rest of their clothes are shed and Emma wraps her ankle around his back to pull him close as Killian buries himself inside of her, thick and warm and absolutely everything that she needs. Not to feel complete, not really, but to feel such a connection to this man who carefully cares about the broken pieces of her heart right next to the broken pieces of his.

“You feel divine, my love,” Killian sighs out in a soft grunt as he begins sliding in and out of her in a slow rhythm while his fingers reach forward to tangle together with hers, resting their hands up above her head as Killian’s body covers hers, the heat of it aiding the sweat that’s forming between her breasts. “I swear, nothing will ever compare to this.”

Emma tilts her hips up and swivels them around Killian, and his fingers tighten around hers, almost painfully, while she smiles against his neck, lightly biting against the strained cords while Killian speeds up his thrusts, the slowness fading away in exchange for him fucking her down into the mattress with a pace so harsh that her lungs aren’t fully capable of working properly so that she can get air and breathe. Or maybe that’s the way that Killian is muttering filthy, dirty things into her ear.

That’s another thing that’s always different and yet always the same. Killian is always talking to her when they’re intimate. Sometimes it’s sweet, sentimental words that Emma swears he must pull out of a Jane Austen novel. Other times it’s funny jokes and stupid things that he seems to think of while he’s moving against her. Once he murmured something about needing to get some milk, and she laughed so hard that neither of them ever found any kind of physical release.

Right now, though, it’s things that cause her cheeks to flame read, thinks like _for fuck’s sake you’re so perfectly wet_ and _I could stay inside of you forever_ and _keep moving your hips up into mine just as you are, darling, let me feel how desperate you are for me._

It’s a lot of information to take in, especially when Killian is hitting all of the right spots and her brain isn’t functioning in the way that it should, but none of it seems to matter when her orgasm creeps up on her, taking the rest of her thoughts away and stealing her breath as the heat simmering underneath her skin breaks through to the surface and Emma has to bite down on Killian’s collarbone to deal with the momentary pleasure that curls between her legs.

Damn. Just damn.

Killian isn’t too far behind her, just a few thrusts that move the bed and knock the wind out of her once more, until he’s falling as well, his words now much more affectionate as he whispers her name into her ear, his scruff harsh against the sensitive skin just below her lobe.

He stays on top of her for a few seconds, his chest moving up and down, before he rolls off of her and Emma is left blinking up at the ceiling fan, watching it go round and round in circles while a goofy grin spreads across her lips.

“What’s that look for, love?” Killian asks as his nails trace along her stomach before standing up. He’s going to have to wash his sheets, but she doesn’t really care right now.

Her smile gets a little brighter, a little happier. “I was just thinking about how much better that would have been had I been wearing socks.”

-/-

For the rest of the day, they only leave the bedroom to get food, most of which they bring back upstairs with them.

It’s the best day that Emma’s had since the middle of May a month ago.

-/-

When she wakes the next day, it’s to an empty bed and the sheets cool to the touch. Emma would be disappointed, but it’s almost a little nice to have some time to herself, even if it’s only for a few minutes before she does need to get up and brush her teeth and stretch her legs a little bit. Staying in bed all day is a great idea, but getting up and having to move around the next day is as painful as some hangovers.

Rolling over to face her nightstand - or at least the nightstand that’s on her side of the bed - she pulls her phone off of its charger and rolls back onto the bed so that she can go through her messages.

And only her messages. She’s not looking online right now. Her heart can’t take that. The last time she did that, her mind went into a spiral that took a week alone with her parents to get out of.

Yesterday was a break from the world and a break of the reality of her life, but Emma knows that the break is pretty much over now. The real world is knocking, and she can’t get rid of all of her responsibilities. Her parents and Will have been picking up her slack, and she needs to go back to work.

She needs for something to be normal again.

This is kind of like hell.

**Mom:** I hope you have a good day today, sweetheart! I’ll have dinner ready before your shift starts. Call if you need anything!

**Mom:** Remind me to tell you about the movie your dad and I watched last night. I think you’d like it.

**Ruby:** Can you call me?

Emma nearly drops her phone down on her face, but she manages to tighten her grip ever as her heart beats a quick, wild pace. Ruby hasn’t spoken to her since Emma’s relationship with Killian was leaked to the world, and while Emma gets Ruby being mad, it hasn’t helped just how hard this whole thing has been for her. Ruby must feel betrayed and hurt and like Emma didn’t trust her to share such a big part of her life with her. If the situation was reversed, Emma would feel the same way. But she’s selfish and just kind of needs her friend to be around.

She needs Ruby to tell her to fuck everyone who dares say a bad word about her and then to make fun of everything so that Emma has some sense of relief.

She needs Ruby to forgive her.

They’ve been friends for too long for this not to work out.

-/-

-/- 

**October 1st, 2013**

“How do you live like this?” Ruby groans as she places her forehead down on the bar’s countertop.

“Like what?”

“This,” Ruby repeats, holding her arm out across the bar top while Emma loads the tray of dirty glasses that need to go into the dishwasher. “It’s so empty in here, and you’re working. I would die of boredom.”

Emma glances out over the room where only two tables are occupied, a few of her regulars, before looking back at Ruby and noticing a new red streak in her hair.

“It’s nine on a Thursday, Rubes. It’s not going to be packed. We just finished the after-work rush. You work in a restaurant. You know how things like this work. Why are you being so dramatic?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be happy to be hanging out with me?”

Ruby perks up, eyeing Emma, before looking back down. “I’m chuffed to see you, honestly, but you’re boring me to tears right now.”

Emma reaches over and condescendingly pats the top of Ruby’s head. “I have tomorrow night off if you want to go out and do something. I promise I’ll be more exciting then.”

She springs up, her body sitting upright, and a wolfish grin curls across her features. “Do you mean that we can go out? Are you saying that we can spend time at an actual club or a pub where your parents aren’t around? We can drink and dance and I can go home with anyone I want without your mum giving me those disapproving eyes of someone who found the love of their life at the age of sixteen?”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs as she places the tray of glasses on the counter so that she can pull a hair tie off of her wrist and pull her hair up into a messy bun, “we can do all of that as long as Granny makes us hangover food for the next morning.”

“You have got a deal, Nolan.” Ruby stands from her stool, the metal scratching against the hardwood, and it almost overshadows the ring of the bell above the pub entrance. “Wear the blue dress.”

“Which blue dress?” Emma questions before looking over at the door.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Not at all. Because now her heart is beating like crazy, and she’s somewhere between excited and having a panic attack.

“The one that makes your boobs look absolutely gigantic. But not, like, too big or anything. I’m the one who wants to go home with someone. I know you’re still in the whole heartbroken-and-not-ready-to-date-again phase.”

Emma blanches. “That’s not true. I’ve been out with other guys since Neal.”

Ruby leans over the counter, and Emma’s eyes cut over to Killian, hoping and wishing and willing that he gets the silent warning that she’s giving him. He seems to, turning at the last minute from coming up to her at the bar to quickly maneuvering his way down the hall to the bathroom.

Keeping the fact that she’s kind of sort of definitely making out with someone new from Ruby has been difficult, but there’s just logistically no way that Emma can tell her what’s going on when Killian has the potential of being more than...well, more than a guy that she’s fucking. She doesn’t know. Emma sucks at relationships, but she knows that this isn’t one that she wants to crash and burn.

Not yet.

Maybe not at all.

And not telling people, not having anyone other than her parents and Will know and give their input, is keeping her from bolting right out the door of her own home.

Emma’s not sure if people change, but right now, with how she keeps relapsing into old habits, she’s starting to believe that they don’t.

At least, she doesn’t. Even if she wants to.

There’s a sky-high wall around her heart, and scaling it is not a task for the light-hearted.

Ruby shakes her head and reaches to grab her coat, shrugging it onto her shoulders. “I’m all for the one-night stand, rebound or not, and I’m not saying that you have to settle down. That would be ridiculous, but it’s kind of sad that someone as brilliant as you is terrified of being in a relationship.”

“You could listen to your own words, Rubes.”

“I’m not a relationship kind of girl, darling,” Ruby sighs as she leans over the counter and bops Emma on the nose. “At least not right now. From everything you’ve told me, you are. But not tomorrow night because tomorrow, it’s just you and me and as many margaritas as you want.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles, pushing away all of the negative thoughts that she allowed to enter her mind, while hoping to everything good in the world that Ruby isn’t going to go back to the bathrooms before she leaves. And if she does, that Killian is smart enough to hide out in the storage closet or a stall or something.

“It sounds like a plan to me, and I promise I’ll wear the blue dress.”

“Thank you. I’m going to go see if any of the shops around here are still open. I shouldn’t buy a new dress, but, you know, the tips I got yesterday are burning a hole in my pocket.”

“Bye, Rubes,” Emma laughs. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

Ruby waves her away, already texting on her phone, before stepping out the front door to the pub. Emma lets out a sigh of relief, thankful to have gotten out of that without any kind of massive screw up, and she quickly picks up the tray of glasses and takes them back to the kitchen where Will is messing around with the stove cooking one of his weird experimental foods and puts them on the counter to load up into the dishwasher at a later time. She’d do it now, but she wants to say hi to Killian, and the little buzz of anticipation within her won’t quite go away until she does that.

Emma exits the kitchen and walks a few steps before turning a corner to go toward the bathrooms and the staircase that leads upstairs to their apartment only to instantly find herself pinned to a wall by Killian’s hips before he’s kissing her hard, slanting his mouth hotly over his as his hand angles her head in the direction he wants it to go while his other hand grips firmly at her hip, holding her exactly where she is while he devours her with his lips and his tongue, quickly licking into her mouth so that Emma’s entire body turns into a ridiculous quivering mess.

Fuck it.

She wants to go upstairs right now and ride him until she can’t walk, but she’s got to deal with the seven people in the pub right now and any other potential customers that may come in in the next five hours.

And also the fact that her parents are upstairs, and it feels undeniably wrong walking past them in the living room with Killian following behind her, every single person in that room knowing exactly what the two of them are going to do. Her father has been supportive of the whole thing, at least in his own ways, but there’s only so much that he can take.

It’s been three very long, weird, and confusing months, obviously.

And it certainly doesn’t help when Killian’s hands move from her hip to cup her where she wants him, heel of his hand pressing into her and making her moan into his mouth. Killian stops kissing her only to move his lips from his mouth to her neck, lavishing her against her pulse point, which must be going absolutely wild right now.

“Hi,” she gasps out as her head tilts back against the hard wall, her eyes darting between Killian and the corner of the pub. Someone could walk this way any second, and as dumb as it is, the thrill of that nearly lights Emma aflame.

“Hello, love.” Killian smiles the greeting into her skin with his lips and his teeth while his hand keeps pressing up against her, and she’s almost panting now, goosebumps rising up over her skin. “What’s this about you and Ruby going out tomorrow night? Does this mean I can’t come by and bother you?”

“Is that what you’re doing right now? Bothering me?”

Killian nips at her skin. Holy _fuck_.

“From the little gasps that are passing through those pretty lips of yours, I wouldn’t think so.” Killian presses a soft, almost delicate, kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her with a cheeky grin painted on his lips as his unruly hair falls down over his forehead.

He was wearing a hat when he came in.

“I think, Swan,” he continues, and Emma smiles at the nickname, “that I’m not bothering you at all except for the fact that I’ve gotten you hot and bothered so much that your eyes are blown black and you’ve got the prettiest red painted across your cheeks.”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat, hoping that her body will stop buzzing, especially when she can’t do anything about it. “You’re an asshole.”

“Quite possibly.” He tilts his head back toward the main section of the pub. “I think you need to get back to work. I look forward to bothering you some more by passing you notes on napkins and ordering very specific drinks.”

“Asshole,” Emma repeats, a smile on her face.

She’s really starting to like this guy, possibly even love him, and she looks forward to his napkin notes and oddly specific drink orders just to make her angry.

The asshole.

-/-

-/-

Swallowing down the emotion in her throat, Emma presses the small photo of she and Ruby at the top of her screen so that she’s taken to her contact information. Her finger hovers over the call button for far longer than she’d like to admit, but she does, eventually press down onto it, her heartbeat matching up with each of the rings.

“Hello?”

Emma’s stomach lurches at the sound of Ruby’s voice, and she has to put her on speaker so that her arm doesn’t have to hold up the phone while it’s feeling more like a noodle than anything else.

“Hey, Rubes,” Emma whispers. She didn’t mean to whisper. She just...her voice isn’t really working right now, and the fact that this is the first time she’s speaking today certainly doesn’t help. “You said you wanted me to call. Is everything okay?”

There’s a huff on the other end of the line, a quiet murmur of voices, before a door slams and all of the buzz of the background disappears. “Sorry, I had to tell Granny that I was taking my break.”

“Oh shit, you’re probably working the breakfast shift right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m filling in for one of our waitresses that couldn’t come in today. Something about her sister was having her baby.”

“Wait,” Emma gasps, sitting up in bed to rest her back against the cushioned headboard. “Is Caroline having her baby?”

“Uh, yeah. How do you know Kate’s sister?”

“Rubes, you don’t remember? Kate’s boyfriend cheated on her, and he’s the father of her sister’s baby. It was, like, a whole big thing.”

“Holy shit. I totally forgot about that. What the hell is she doing going to the birth?”

“Probably something vindictive.”

“Fuck,” Ruby mutters as Emma hears the tale-tell signs of Ruby opening the door to the apartment above the restaurant. “I should have offered to take her to the hospital. I’d give anything to see that delivery room.”

“You and me both.”

There’s silence on the other end of the lines, and the momentary joy that came from she and Ruby having a normal conversation again fades away as the seconds tick by in silence, Emma’s breath and the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

“Ems?” Ruby asks in a quiet voice, not at all what Emma has come to associate with Ruby over the years that they’ve known each other.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

A gulp is caught in Emma’s throat while her eyes slam shut. She has felt far too many emotions in the past few days, and Emma is sick of all of them.

Except for quite possibly the overwhelming relief that’s coming with this conversation.

“I’m sorry, too, Ruby.” Emma sucks in a deep breath and opens up her eyes to look at the painting that’s above the television. “I don’t...it’s my fault for not telling you about Killian. I should have, when we were more comfortable with our relationship, I should have told you because I trust you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. I - shit, Rubes. I had this really good thing going for me, and I was terrified that telling someone would take that good thing away from me, that we were so fragile that we’d break. It was wrong, but it’s what happened, you know? I got comfortable with how things were.”

Ruby sighs on the other end of the line, and Emma swallows the lump that’s still in her throat, wishing and willing that things are going to continue to be okay with the two of them. Her life keeps blowing up in spectacular fashion, and she selfishly wants things to go back to normalcy.

She wants to be able to spend time with Killian and have Ruby to text and be able to do her job without so much craziness.

She _wants,_ and Emma really doesn’t think that it’s too much to ask.

Knowing the risks of all of this doesn’t mean that she was prepared for every consequence. She’s still a person with feelings and struggles, and some of the shit that she’s been put through, no one should be put through.

And she’s still in the middle of this damn storm. It’s not something she wants to think about, but her mind keeps coming back to it.

“Look,” Ruby starts, and Emma can practically imagine her eye roll and the way that she’s tapping her perfectly manicured nail against the nearest surface, “I don’t care about your reasons, okay? I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I don’t care. It happened, and we can’t change it. All I know is that I miss you, and I want to go back to being your really obnoxious friend.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I have so much to tell you. More importantly, you have so much to tell me. Your life kind of looks batshit crazy right now.”

“That’s because it is. I’m working tonight. You want to come by and talk?”

“You’re not spending the night with the handsome boyfriend. Have I told you good going on that? Because damn, Emma Nolan, you did good.”

Emma chuckles underneath her breath as the floorboards creak outside of Killian’s bedroom a moment before he walks inside. He’s dressed in jeans and a pullover, just socks on his feet, and she has no idea what the hell he’s been doing all morning. She’ll have to ask.

“You’re telling me,” Emma says back as Killian keeps walking toward her, his brow raised. “Ruby,” she mouths. Killian’s other brow raises as he sits down next to her, mattress dipping beneath his weight while his hand comes to rest on her knee, thumb moving back and forth. “It’s been...a lot, but it’s all good. Nothing I can’t handle. But seriously. Come by tonight, and we’ll talk. I’ll make you a free margarita.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

“What’s she saying, love?” Killian asks.

“Is that him?” Ruby questions, the pitch of her voice noticeably higher. “Can I talk to him?”

Killian’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head back and forth, terror absolutely written across his features. “Swan, I swear, no. I’m not sure that I’m prepared.”

“Yeah, but I’m putting you on speaker.”

“What? Why do I have to be on speaker? I need to speak to him in private.”

“Yeah, no,” Emma laughs, the corners of her mouth curling up. “I know we just established my trust in you, but I don’t trust you enough to speak to him on your own.”

Ruby dramatically sighs while the tips of Killian’s ears turn red.

“Hello, lass,” Killian greets. “I’ve heard such great things about you.”

“Cut the shit, prince boy. If you hurt Emma, I’ll cut your bloody balls off.”

“Ruby!”

“No, no, it’s fine, love,” Killian promises her, a smirk curling on his lips. “This is everything I expected from Ruby. I promise that you’ll have no reason to cut off my balls.”

“It would be no problem to do it, and you would produce zero heirs.”

“Oh, I imagine it won’t. I think you’ve given me a little bit more motivation to treat her nicely. It’s a shame that I’ve been treating her so terribly until now.”

Killian squeezes her knee at this before leaning down to press his lips against her skin. Emma’s stomach flutters in response, and she leans back against the headboard with a smile on her lips while Killian blinks up at her through the darkness of his lashes.

“I’m not sure how I feel about you yet,” Ruby mutters. “I want to like you, but obviously I have to meet you. I have five years of obnoxious third wheeling to do.”

“Name and time and place, and I’ll be there.”

An alarm goes off, and Ruby murmurs under her breath. “Shit, I’ve got to go back to work. Ems, I’ll be over by around ten, okay?”

“Yeah, Rubes. That sounds perfect.” Emma hangs up the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen, before tossing her phone to the side and looking up at Killian to find him still looking at her. “What?”

“Nothing, love. I’m simply thrilled that you and Ruby are no longer cross with each other.”

“You sound extra British when you say ‘cross.’ Did you know that?”

“You’ve told me that a time or two.”

“Good,” Emma sighs, patting her hand over his. “I’m glad that we’re going to be okay, too. I don’t...damn, it feels like I’m almost free for the first time in a long time.”

Killian softly smiles at her and reaches forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ears while Emma’s eyes flutter closed. “I’m sorry that you’re going through all of this because of me.”

“Killian.”

“No, no, don’t protest, love. It’s a true and unfortunate part of being with me, and it’s one I’ve always hated. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to you. I - ”

“Let’s not talk about it right now, okay?” Emma interrupts, opening her eyes back up and forcing a smile onto her face. “Today is a good day, and I don’t want to take away from that. We’ll deal with everything when I come back over on Wednesday.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobs, but he nods and lets the features in his face relax. “I think that sounds like a good plan. I know we’ve been avoiding it and…” Emma raises her brows. “Right, right, we’re not talking about it. Would you like to come downstairs and get some breakfast? I haven’t eaten yet. I’ve been going through my schedule with Ariel all morning. She wants to get dinner with us at some point. Have I mentioned that?”

“You have. We can figure that out on Wednesday, too. And I’d love breakfast. Can I shower and brush my teeth and stuff first?”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything about the smell but - ”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, reaching forward to slap Killian before rising from the bed and pulling her shirt up over her shoulders. “I’m going to take my shower now. I think I want, like, some kind of bacon for breakfast. Maybe waffles or pancakes or French toast. Something super indulgent and undeniably American diner breakfast food.”

“I will see what I can do there.”

Killian heads back downstairs while she moves to the bathroom, stripping out of the rest of her clothes before stepping into Killian’s shower, which quite possibly is the most magical shower in existence. Emma has never been lacking in things in life, her parents made sure of that, but she’s never quite lived in luxury or excess. It’s always been a very normal life - besides getting arrested for her boyfriend’s crime and then dating a fucking prince - and as much as she likes her shower at the apartment, she loves Killian’s shower. It’s like a little spa, and she could spend hours in there.

But she’s also a fan of breakfast and eating and getting on with her day, so she doesn’t spend much time showering before turning to water off and getting dressed in a pair of her running shorts and a tank top and braiding her damp hair back. It’ll be crazy later, but she’s going to go running before work tonight, and there’s no point in making her hair look nice. Plus, right now it’s just Killian, and he has seen her at her worst, best, and everything in between.

There are cinnamon rolls in the oven by the time Emma gets downstairs, cinnamon wafting from the oven and filling the entire room so that Emma can barely smell the coffee that Killian is making for her.

Emma doesn’t have exceptionally high standards for how a significant other should be, but Killian is definitely on up there.

Then again, she’s a sucker for anyone who cooks for her, even if it’s simply sticking frozen rolls on a pan and putting them in the oven.

It’s the little things.

“Are you not going to eat anything?” she asks Killian later as she licks some of the icing off of her finger.

He shakes his head no. “I prefer not to eat so much sugar in the morning.”

“One day, I swear that I’m going to turn you over to the dark side, my love.”

His lips curl up. “I’d like to see you try.”

It’s not long before she has to leave and go home, her day catching up to her, and it certainly doesn’t help that she lingers when saying goodbye to Killian. It’s been so damn hard lately, all of these changes and assaults happening at once, but being inside the safety of Killian’s apartment makes them all go away. None of their problems can get to them there, not even Killian’s family, and it’s undeniably nice to not have to be so on guard all the time.

Plus, there’s the fact that she’s the slightest bit annoyed with how Killian has his security driving her home. She wants to take the tube or get a taxi or do something how she used to do it. She doesn’t want to be chauffeured around in an armored car even if it’s only for her own safety.

Everything about being watched all the time sends a shiver down Emma’s spine, and she’s starkly reminded of all of the scrutiny she was once under back in America. Going through that again....it’s a lot.

“Ms. Nolan,” a voice calls out as she walks along the sidewalk outside of Killian’s apartment on her way to the car where August is waiting for her. Emma turns to see Liam walking just behind her dressed in a suit. He must have some kind of engagement. “Ms. Nolan, could you wait just one minute, please?”

Emma stops walking and turns to fully look at Liam and to take in just how much he doesn’t look like Killian. Everyone has always said that they do, but she can’t see it. Not at all.

“It’s Emma,” she corrects him. “I go by Emma.”

“Ah, right, well.” Liam smiles at her, and another shiver runs down her spine. “I’m glad I ran into you, _Emma_. I wanted to speak to you.”

Immediately, she adjusts her bag to put it in front of her stomach, unceremoniously keeping Liam as far away from her as possible. She doesn’t trust him, can’t trust him, no matter how much she wants to. He was nice enough at the lunch, even with his few quips, but Emma knows too much to expect any kindness from him.

“About what? Is this like a protective big brother talk where you want to make sure I’m good enough for Killian?”

She says it as a joke. She already knows what Killian’s entire family thinks of her, but Liam doesn’t find it funny, not if the way the smile disappears from his face is any indication.

“No, because I already know you’re not good enough.”

“Ha,” Emma chuckles. Her mood just went straight to shit, and if Liam wants to be an asshole to her, she can be an asshole right back. “Are you always this self-righteous?”

“Are you always so naive to think that you can get what you want?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You. I’m talking about you, dear.” The way he says “dear” is like he’s spitting venom, and Emma wonders yet again what kind of massive sticks these people have up their asses. “You say you want to be with my brother. You continue to be with him and to spend time with him, but you’re shunning any kind of public life that we’re trying to help you adjust to. You don’t get to have it both ways. Being in this family comes with a cost, and I’m not sure that it’s one you’re equip to pay.”

“I feel like we’ve already had this conversation. I don’t think my relationship is any of your business.”

“But it is, lass. Our family is being murdered by the tabloids and the press and common folk on the streets. It’s been in an uproar in the last month, and it’s like the two of you don’t even care how your affair is affecting more than just the two of you.”

“Affair?” Emma scoffs out as rage boils through her blood. “We are not having an affair. We are in a relationship, and your family has done nothing to try to help me. Your father met me once and decided that I was so far below his fucking high nose that he would never speak to me again, and you have spent the last month defending him and his choices and not at all caring how much it’s hurting me or your brother. God,” she laughs, almost maniacal, before running her hand through her hair. “You don’t even see it or get it or even know what’s going on. You’ve never known any other way but to be a pompous ass.”

Liam blinks at her, slow and measured, before he takes two steps closer so that he is undeniably looking down at her with disgust. “My father is wrong for a lot of what he’s done and said, Ms. Nolan, but there are several instances where he’s correct. This is an important family, whether you like it or not, and if you ever want to be a part of it, you’re going to have to accept both the good and the bad. That’s all I wanted to say. Hiding between your pub and Killian’s home isn’t going to be something that’s sustainable.”

“Ms. Nolan,” August’s voice calls out from behind her, but Emma doesn’t turn around to look at him. Instead, she picks up her bag and stays looking at Liam while her heart thumps an unsteady rhythm and her throat constricts with a heavy lump that she can’t swallow down.

“Neither is living the way you’re living, Your Highness,” Emma sarcastically says back to Liam as she steps away. “I don’t give a fuck what you think about me, but you could at least put in an effort to make Killian feel loved for once in your life.” 

Silently, even with her mind far from silent, Emma turns and walks toward August, joining him where he’s waiting for her to go to the car. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer to take her bag or open her car door for her, and Emma is thankful for that as she quietly slides into the backseat of the SUV and closes her eyes. This day has been a rollercoaster, one she wants to get off, but getting off means facing different dangers, ones she’s not ready for either.

Is she ever going to be ready for any of this? Or is everything about this all out of her control?

What is even happening?

The car comes to an abrupt halt, and Emma jolts forward in her seat, the seatbelt the only thing holding her back from crashing into the headrest in front of her.

“I apologize, Ms. Nolan,” August tells her, flashing her a smile through the rearview mirror. “It seems we’ve run into a few photographers, but I promise I’ll have you home safely as quickly as possible, aye?”

Emma nods her head while daring to glance out the window, where there is a swarm of people with bright flashing lights, each of them capturing her inside of the car, and she ducks her head and turns away, hoping that they’ll all disappear and leave her the hell alone.

They don’t. They follow her the entire way home, bright lights flashing in the rearview as other cars chase hers, following close enough that they might as well be riding along with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the story, let me know what you think!
> 
> And don't forget to check out the other CSRT stories!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry about missing Friday's update! I got so many asks and messages from all of you, and I really appreciate it 💕 My baby has been a little under the weather, and it didn't even cross my mind to post.
> 
> Thank you for reading this! I love where we're heading in the story and am so happy with how it's turned out.

**June 25th, 2018**

The late June weather fills Killian’s apartment with an unusual warmth and lack of rain, and it allows him to be able to hear the chattering of birds and the occasional sound of a car whirring by, a flash of a horn beeping or tires skidding against pavement. That’s something that can only be heard in the silence, when there’s no music playing over the speakers installed in his home and no voice coming through the speaker on his phone.

Silence.

It’s both refreshing and terrifying to have this much of it, but Killian knows that it’s only a temporary thing. In under an hour he’ll be sitting at an uncomfortable dinner with his family, the first one in forty or so days, and the refreshing silence will most likely transform into an uncomfortable one. But it won’t last long. Someone will say something, either a snide remark from his father or an attempt at pleasantry by Elsa, and the conversation will trudge along until they’re all able to leave and go their own ways.

“Hey,” Emma says behind him. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her head down on top of his own. She’s just gotten out of the shower, and she smells intoxicatingly of vanilla. “Shouldn’t you be leaving soon?”

He types a few more words to Ariel about the Kidding A Goal venue before closing his laptop and leaning back into Emma while his eyes glance down to see the sapphire ring on her right hand tapping against his chest. Out of instinct, he’s reminded of another ring that he wants to give her, one that isn’t in existence yet, and he so foolishly hopes that maybe things will turn around today so that he and Emma will be on the right path again.

They’ve been going backwards and in circles, veering off a couple of roads, even though the two of them have stayed exactly where they are.

“I’m putting it off until the last possible moment, darling. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Emma’s intake of breath is answer enough. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know. Wishful thinking, I guess. It’s not always going to be like this. Things will change.”

“By things you mean your father?”

“And the media.”

Emma’s hands tighten around him for a brief moment before loosening back up. “I highly doubt both of those things, Killian. I mean - never mind.”

“No, what?” His hand reaches up to cover hers as he twists his head around to be able to look at her, but he can’t, not really. There’s a flash of green for a moment before she turns her head to look away from him. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” Emma promises before she lightly brushes her lips over his and moves back so that she’s no longer touching him and the heat of her body disappears into thin air. “I think I might go home today is all.”

“Home? You just got here.”

“Two days ago,” she corrects him as she picks up a few of the glasses in the sink and begins rinsing them out even though they’re already clean. “I got here two days ago, which means I haven’t worked in two days. I’ve left my parents and Will to deal with the madness that’s my fucking fault, and I need to be the one to go and face it instead of sitting around here and doing nothing.”

Killian stands from the kitchen table, his shackles rising even though he’s trying to stay calm. “We were spending time with each other, Swan. I don’t think that qualifies as doing nothing.”

Her hands start furiously scrubbing a nonexistent mark on a glass that’s already spotless, the water beginning to steam as it streams out of the faucet, and Killian walks over to the sink to push the handle to switch it off while Emma keeps working with her brows pinched together.

“I’m not used to not working. I need to be able to do something so that I don’t go crazy. This isn’t like when you would come and visit me and we could spend time together. I was almost always working then. I had something to do outside of talking to you.”

Killian’s chest pangs, but he bites his tongue on the words that he wants to say. Emma has been fucking fantastic at keeping herself together lately, even in their moments of weakness and in the rough spots, and Killian has got no clue how she’s doing any of it. She doesn’t like to talk about what’s going on, not more than a few sentences of annoyance or frustration, and he can’t help but wonder if the dam is ever going to break.

Now probably isn’t the time to ask when he can’t get into it for too long.

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you used to find ways to stop working to come and chat with me.”

She huffs and puts the glass down before looking up at him. “I love you, you idiot. Of course I would find time to talk to you.”

“No, no, no. I’m talking about before we were dating. I would be minding my own business, and you would find a reason to come and talk to me no matter what time of the night that it was.”

“That is categorically untrue,” she laughs. “You were never minding your own business.”

-/-

-/-

**April 27th, 2013**

“I don’t understand,” Killian groans, throwing a couple of pretzel bites in his mouth to munch on as Emma sits on the counter behind the bar, legs swinging freely against the hardwood cabinets beneath her, “why do you have so many phrases that are different?”

“Um, no,” she corrects, motioning for him to toss her a few of the pretzel bites. They’ve got this routine down pretty well, if he does say so himself, throwing her the pretzels for her to catch between her hands. “Why do you have so many different phrases?” She stops to stuff all of the pretzel bites he just threw at her in her mouth, speaking before she finishes chewing. “I have lived with my extremely British mom for my entire life, and I still can’t get over the fact that you guys call cookies biscuits. That’s not what a fucking biscuit is. Oh,” another bite of an apparently hidden pretzel that he’s pretty sure she just pulled out of her bra, “and then there’s the fact that you call fries chips or crisps or whatever. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You call your trousers pants. That’s underwear! It drives me up the wall when you say that a spilled drink got all over your pants because you’re not walking around in your bloody pants.”

“Well, I would think you’d like to see me walking around in my _pants_ from the way you like to stare at my ass when you think I’m not looking.”

She’s got him there (she has a fantastic ass and he definitely thought he was being more sly than he apparently has been), and he can’t help scratching behind his ear, his cheeks flushing red. She sees this and smirks at him, hopping down from the counter to grab some more pretzels for herself out of _his_ bowl.

“Those are mine,” he scolds playfully, slapping her hand away as he pulls the bowl back to himself, cradling it like one would do with a child.

“Oh please,” she laughs, snatching the bowl out of his grasp, “didn’t anyone ever teach you how to share?”

Now she’s taking a sip of _his_ beer while eating _his_ pretzels, and he wonders how exactly they got to this point of familiarity after knowing each other for nearly two months. Not that he’s complaining. He quite likes the way this is going.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to steal?”

He says it jokingly, but Emma flinches at that, putting his beer down and sliding it and the bowl back to him, immediately turning around to busy herself with rearranging the bottles of alcohol on the bottom shelf that don’t actually need rearranging. He’s obviously touched some kind of nerve with her, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. That was never his intention. And he doesn’t want to ruin this thing they’ve got going, so he does what he always does when he’s pushed his luck a bit too far with Emma. He does something to try to make her laugh.

She’s got a beautiful laugh, and if he could hear it every day for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man. The cheesy, overly sentimental bastard that he is.

“Lass, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he pleads, leaning over the counter to tap her shoulder, trying to convince her to turn around. “It was just a joke. I was just asking you if anyone had taught you not to steal because it seems you’ve stolen my heart without me giving my permission.”

It’s corny, but that’s the point. And it doesn’t matter if a tiny (large) part of it is true or not. Emma’s never going to want to be with him, not in the way that he wants her, and if he’s going to torture himself by voluntarily spending this much time with her, he might as well have a little bit of fun while doing it.

She lets out a low whistle, rising from her spot where she was squatting on the ground working in the cabinets to finally turn and look at him, propping her chin in the palms of her hands as she rests her elbows on the counter in front of him, her lips curled into a smirk.

“You get all your girls that way, Casanova?”

“First of all,” Killian begins, snatching onto Emma’s wrists and running his thumbs across the skin there, “I don’t have these hoards of girls you seem to think I have. Second of all, are you saying that you’re one of my girls?”

“Please,” she drawls out, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion but making no move to remove her hands from his grasp, “like you would be interested in an American bartender for anything other than serving you your alcohol.”

Oh how little does she know.

“I’ll have you know,” he drawls out right back, rolling his tongue across his bottom lip as he releases her hands to cross his arms across his chest, leaning back in the stool, “I actually quite fancy you when you’re not yelling at me.” He adds in an exaggerated wink to complement Emma’s eye roll from earlier. “And a lot of times even when you are. _Especially_ when you are.”

He’s flirting with her, and quite frankly, it’s fun. It’s been a good while since he’s had this much fun talking to a woman – talking to anyone, really – and he likes having fun like this. Being normal. Flirting. Flirting with this captivating woman to be more specific.

The thing about Emma is that she gives as good as she gets. She’s a spitfire, in every sense of the word, and often he’s not quite prepared for whatever words are going to come out of her mouth. She’ll look at him saccharine smile on her face and oh so kindly tell him to put his too warm drink where the sun doesn’t shine to cool it off if she doesn’t look at what he says, and that’s on a tame day.

Killian prefers the fiery ones. 

“You,” Emma groans, even if she has a smile on her face, “are absolutely ridiculous. I can’t believe your face is one of the ones that represents this country.”

“I happen to think my face is quite dashing, don’t you? Some would even say striking.”

“Hmm,” she hums out, tapping her finger against her chin, “it’s okay. Nothing to write home about. Not worth the cost of the stamps.”

She shrugs her shoulders at him, like she really means it, but then she’s throwing a wink in his direction, and he already knows that he’s _gone_ for this girl.

Killian grabs one of the napkins that’s next to him, a small “The Swan’s Feather” type printed across the top, and Killian pulls a pen out of the jar and starts scribbling down a note before releasing a low whistle. Emma turns around on her heels, glancing over at him with an exasperated sigh before fixing her attention back to the two patrons at the bar asking for refills of their beer.

Like the obnoxious ass that he is, he keeps whistling intermittently, often enough to be annoying to Emma but not enough to be noticed by others, and eventually she walks back over to him and places her elbows on the wood in front of him so that he has to struggle to keep his eyes upward. He likes to think of himself as a gentleman, but he’s still only a man. And there’s a high probability of Emma pushing her breasts together like this on purpose.

“What?” she sighs out with an exaggerated eye roll. “What could you possibly want?”

“I was simply wondering about the origin of this pub’s name, love,” he begins as he continues drawing on the napkin. “The Swan’s Feather. That’s an interesting name.”

“My grandfather was an interesting man.”

“He was a fan of swans?”

“He was a fan of my grandmother, who he always said was as graceful as a swan.” Someone calls out Emma’s name behind her, and she turns to look at him, holding up one finger. “Does that answer your question?”

Killian hums, mulling it all over, before sliding the napkin across the smooth surface until it’s poking into Emma’s stomach for her to take. “I think it does, _Swan_.”

She arches her brow, but she doesn’t say anything else before turning around and leaving him where he’s sitting.

Later that night - or that morning since it’s an hour past closing and some are already waking up to start their days - he and Emma are both sitting in a booth, collection of empty beer bottles and scribbled on napkins gathered in front of them on the mahogany table.

“So tell me something,” Emma insists, pulling her hair into some kind of messy bun on the top of her head. It makes her look younger, more her age. It also looks heavy with all of her hair piled on her head like that.

“Anything, darling,” he answers, voice low and deep, not wanting to overpower the sound of the radio that is still playing through the speakers. There’s something mystical about the pub this early in the morning, the darkness outside neither night nor day, and if he speaks too loudly, he might ruin the bubble they’re under. It’s a foolish thought, one he shouldn’t have, but there’s an undeniable truth to it all.

“You’re relatively young –”

“I’m three years older than you.”

“Three. Three hundred. What’s the difference?”

He levels her with a glare, furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes as he looks at her, still waiting for her to get to the point of her line of questioning.

“You’re relatively young,” she repeats, still trying to adjust the bun on her head as she props her feet up on his lap under the table, “and I know you’re not super stodgy like the rest of your family from what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen on TV and, you know, from knowing you. But you have to sort of sneak away to do normal things, like to come out drinking.” She’s pointing between the two of them, as if to prove her point, and he grabs onto her ankles, feeling the exposed skin there.

“Aye, and, Swan?” He nods at her as he runs his fingers over the protruding bone, encouraging her to continue, the buzz of the alcohol and the buzz of this night with her making him feel like he’ll tell her anything she wants to know.

Emma rolls her eyes, probably at the nickname that he’s decided is now hers. It suits her. She may be a little rough around the edges to some, but he thinks she’s as graceful as a Swan as well. “It’s probably a stupid question, but –”

“It’s not a stupid question.”

“Stop interrupting me, Jones.”

It is ridiculously attractive the way she sometimes calls him by his last name. No one else in the world does that.

He raises his hands in defense, motioning the zipping of his lips, throwing back his hand as if he was throwing away the imaginary key before reaching back down to grab hold of her ankles again.

“So do you, like, have secret social media accounts? Do you spend your nights checking twitter or scrolling through Instagram to see what your friends are doing? To see what ridiculous things people are saying about you? Do you Snapchat? Who in the world would you Snapchat? Like, the other princes and dukes and duchesses of the world? Your life has to be fucking weird.”

It’s an odd question to ask, and usually she won’t ask too much about the specifics of his life, but he figures this is more curiosity of what it’s really like to be him than anything else. She deserves to know things about him. She’s his friend, he thinks, and he annoys her at her place of business most nights. It’s the least he can do to answer some of her questions, and this is probably the easiest question she can ask.

“I don’t have any of those things,” he admits, and she almost looks disappointed, “I have several official accounts, but I’m only allowed to post professional things on there. And a lot of the time it’s not even me posting it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t spend time on the internet. I tend to avoid looking myself up because the media is fucking crazy. I have spent more time looking at weird videos online than I care to admit.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of scared to ask what kind of weird videos.” She lets out a small chuckle, looking down to pick at her nails before looking back at him through her eyelashes, and he can feel her trying to poke his stomach with her toes but her legs are too short.

God, she’s beautiful.

And infuriating.

And adorable.

And _just lovely_.

He can’t help but laugh in return, if only to give him time to answer her almost question.

“Normal things, I guess. There’s a lot of videos of animals or babies or just people doing idiotic things. I guess it gets a little weirder if I can’t sleep, and I just kind of keep clicking on whatever the next suggested video is.”

He’s expecting her to look at him curiously, but she doesn’t. She just smiles at him like she’s endeared by his late-night habits, but that’s got to be the alcohol talking, right?

“Well what’s the weirdest thing you’ve watched lately?”

He takes a minute to think about it, not really knowing what to say. This is kind of an unorthodox conversation, but he guesses when you’re sitting in an empty pub at four in the morning, anything goes. And it’s not like this is the first time they’ve talked about something odd.

Plus, she’s still giving him that look. Killian wants Emma to give him that look every day for the foreseeable future.

He’s ridiculously infatuated with her, and she likely has no idea. He’s not doing himself any favors answering her questions honestly.

“It was a video about how some people don’t like the sound of whispering in their ears.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement, her green eyes scrunching up in delight. “Don’t people, _you know_ , usually like that?”

“What do you mean?” He knows exactly what she means, but her cheeks are already flushing a deep crimson from being flustered, and he wants to see how she deals with this for purely selfish reasons.

“You know, someone whispering in your ear?”

“And why would someone like that, Swan?” He does his best impression of being innocent, lacing his fingers together and propping his chin on them as he waits for her to answer.

“You know,” her voice is almost a whisper now, funnily enough, “whispering…saucy statements in your ear in the throes of passion?”

“Saucy?” Killian barks out a laugh, deep and bellowing because he can’t quite contain himself at her choice of words.

Emma’s face is completely flushed now, and he can see where that blush reaches down beneath her shirt. It would almost be arousing if he wasn’t too busy laughing.

“Ugh,” she groans, putting her face in her hands in embarrassment as her body shakes in silent laughter and maybe a little defeat, “I was trying to think of a word, and I know it started with an ‘S’ but I couldn’t think of a better word in the moment.”

“Sexy? Seductive? Salacious? Spicy? Scandalous? Sensual? Suggestive?”

He’s wiggling his eyebrows at her, still amused at her saucy statement and the look – _death glare_ – she was giving him as he rattled off those words, counting them off on the fingers of his right hand like it was nothing, using his other hand to tap each word against the bone of her ankle to further prove his point .

“Yes, any of those would work, but I kind of like saucy now that I’ve said it. Really turns me on and would totally work in the moment.”

She’s trying to keep a straight face, but he sees her jaw tick just the slightest bit, and he knows she wouldn’t let anything slip if it wasn’t for the alcohol buzzing through her. Killian’s going to enjoy talking to a carefree Emma while he can. She’s got mile high walls, but he thinks maybe a brick or two just came down. He raises a brow, questioning her truthfulness in that last statement, and she almost immediately bursts into a fit of giggles, eyes closing and smile brightening in her show of joy.

They spend the rest of the night – morning – talking about meaningless things, eventually evolving into him showing her some of the aforementioned videos, as well as Emma showing him how to use Snapchat – she snaps a picture of the two of them with a filter that gives you cat ears and he never does figure out a way to ask if she can send that to him, though he does notice her save it to her phone instead of deleting it so maybe he can still ask later.

When she yawns, nose scrunching as she doesn’t even bother to cover up her mouth, he realizes that he needs to go home and let her go upstairs to go to sleep. It’s as he’s excusing himself, telling her “you need to go to sleep, love _”_ that she tells him he can sleep on the couch upstairs. He thinks it may be inappropriate, but she insists, telling him that she doesn’t want him driving home on the combination of alcohol and lack of sleep.

So he accepts, if a bit hesitant at first, and follows her upstairs for the first time since the night they first met. She grabs him some of her father’s clothes out of the dryer, again so much like that first time, and after he’s settled down onto the couch, nestled into a blanket and into the cushions, she comes over to him, leaning over him just so that he thinks she might kiss him goodnight.

He hopes that she does.

She doesn’t.

But she does move her lips over to his ear, whispering that she hopes he has some _saucy_ dreams tonight.

He doesn’t, but when he wakes up in the morning, there’s a pile of napkins on the table, his handwriting mixing in with Emma’s in little jokes and drawings and everything in between.

At the top sits a napkin that simply reads “saucy” with a little swan drawn underneath.

-/-

-/-

“I did mind my own business, on occasion,” Killian continues, “but I also fancied you so I enjoyed finding ways to talk to you.” Emma rolls her eyes, her jaw still tense, and Killian pushes himself over the countertop so that he can grab her hand and rub his thumb over her knuckles. “Hey, why don’t you stay here tonight? We’re having lunch with Ariel and Eric tomorrow, so you’d just be coming right back. And then this weekend we’ll talk about trying to figure things out. We’ve been pushing things away and brushing them off, but I don’t want to do that anymore, Emma. I want us to move forward. I don’t want us to keep moving backward.”

Her head nods as a small smile graces her lips, and Killian feels a small bit of calm settle into his heart. “I want that too, Jones.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate that you call me by my last name?”

“A time or two,” Emma laughs before pulling her hand away from his. “Alright, my love, you’ve got a dinner to go to, and I’m going to clean this entire place while possibly getting drunk because I need something to do to keep me busy.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Killian has to quickly change clothes before leaving, and as much as he’s dreading going to dinner, he hates being late. So the fact that he is running impossibly late doesn’t do anything to dwell his nerves. The fact that he runs into Liam, Elsa, and Alex on the way to their car certainly doesn’t help either. Elsa insisting that he rides with them pushes things over the edge, but then he chats with Alex, as much as one can chat with a two-year-old, alleviates his nerves for a few moments.

Alex is quite possibly one of his favorite people on the planet, and Killian will forever be thankful for the way that the lad has no idea of all of the complications of the adults around him. He holds Killian’s hand for the entire ride there as Elsa and Liam quietly chat in the front seat, and it’s a moment of actual peace instead of fabricated peace.

That ends the moment they walk into his parents’ living quarters, and Killian’s eyes land on his father for the first time outside of seeing him on television while he was working an engagement. Luckily, they haven’t had to work together on any of those recently.

“Grammy,” Alex shouts the moment he lays eyes on Allison, squirming around in Killian’s arms until he puts him down so that his small legs can run toward his grandmother.

“Alex,” Allison gushes, scooping him up into her arms. “I’ve missed you very much, my darling. Just like I’ve missed your mummy and your papa and Killian.”

“Hi, Mum,” Killian sighs in greeting his mother, walking up to her and dipping his head down to kiss her cheek. “How are you today?”

“As happy as I can be because you’re all here.”

“Good,” Killian smiles, completely avoiding his father’s gaze as he feels him hover closer to them while he acknowledges Elsa and Liam’s presence. “That’s good.”

“Killian,” Brennan says solemnly behind him. A chill immediately runs down Killian’s spine, and he grits his teeth while his hands curl into fists. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. This is going to be fine. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hello,” he says curtly in response, flashing an insincere smile at Brennan before ducking away to pull out the chair where he always sits at dinner. He’s not glad to see his father, so he doesn’t say it.

Why would he?

They all settle down around the table, much like they’ve done hundreds of times before, and Killian flashes back to the afternoon where he had to officially tell his family about Emma because it was leaked to the press.

How the hell did that happen? How did any of this happen? Even if Ariel figures out who leaked it, even if he can hold people accountable for their actions, nothing really changes.

His mum, bless her for everything that she is, begins talking as their drinks and salads are served, and she never really stops. It’s not unlike her to be the center of attention. For as demure as she is, she also knows how to demand a room. It’s something he’s always admired in her, especially when life has designed for her not to be the most demanding person in her circle, and Killian has always taken it as a silent way for her to show that she can be in charge of her life even if outside forces keep trying to change her path.

It may be projecting and wishful thinking, but it’s something.

So his mother talks about how work has been going for her, asks everyone else how it has been going for them, and then she and Elsa get into a rather enthusiastic conversation about Alex and then the new baby who is going to be a girl. It’s been four generations since someone in this family had a girl.

Needless to say, Elsa and Allison are more than excited.

They’re also excited at how well the public pregnancy announcement went. Elsa, he knows, is not a huge fan of having to share deeply personal things with millions of strangers, but she’s always accepted her role with more ease than Killian has. And she and Liam are so damn excited about their new child, which eases some of the fears that Killian had when he first learned of this pregnancy, that he imagines they’ve had a difficult time not shouting it from the rooftops.

He can only imagine.

“You know,” his father interrupts while running his finger over the rim of his tumbler of whiskey, “it’s nice that you two have announced your new child. It’s taken a hell of a lot of the attention away from Killian’s disastrous fling.”

“Dad,” Liam grits out.

Killian’s skin heats, his blood likely boiling, and he doesn’t know whether to look at Liam or Brennan. Of-fucking-course his father would be like this today. Everything has been going more than fine, everyone actually getting along, so of course Brennan would decide that he has the need to be an asshole.

“What?” Brennan chuckles as he gulps down the entire glass. “It’s true. It’s been a madhouse out there over your brother, and it’s nice to finally have some happy news.”

“Fu - ” Killian starts before he looks to the side and sees Alex happily eating a roll while Elsa speaks in soft, soothing tones to him. “I came here for Mum today,” Killian continues as he places his silverware on his half-full plate, the hunger dissipating. “I didn’t come here for you to still have a stick up your ass. I don’t care what you think about me. You likely don’t think about me at all. But it is ridiculous that you are still so strung up over the woman I love. In any other situation, for any other person, you would be helping Emma and I deal with what’s going on. They are slandering her name. The press is killing her, and you are not helping.”

“Why would I help if I don’t approve?”

“Because like it or not, this is the woman I’m going to be with for the rest of my life.”

“What about me not giving my approval do you not understand?”

“Brennan,” Allison hisses, her voice so distraught that it breaks Killian’s heart. “Stop it. We have talked about this.”

“Alex has to use the restroom,” Elsa meekly says, an obvious excuse marking her tongue. She looks at him with sympathetic eyes and an even more sympathetic smile, and Killian knows that she’s leaving to give him space, not because she’s not on his side. If anyone in this room is on his side, it’s Elsa and Allison. “We’ll be back.”

There’s a few moments of silence, Elsa and Alex making their way out of the room after murmuring something to Liam as well. Killian’s knuckles have turned white, the dark hairs on his forearms are standing up on white bumps, and he can scarcely breathe.

Why is this happening?

Why can’t they just be normal?

As soon as the door closes behind Elsa, Killian speaks. “Fuck you. I get it. You don’t like Emma. She’s not who you imagined being a part of this family, but she’s it for me. There will never be anyone else, and that’s something that you’re going to have to deal with. Either you help me protect her from all of the hatred that she’s receiving and give me permission to marry her when we make that choice, or it comes down to a few other options that I can’t believe I have to repeat.”

“What choices could you possibly have?”

Killian scoffs, and he blinks to alleviate the sting of anger tears that are forming. “You don’t want me to marry Emma because you think it hurts our image, aye? Well, how much would it hurt our image for me to never marry her but for us to live together? To raise children together?”

“They would be illegitimate.”

“They would be my fucking children. I don’t give a fuck if they have a royal title.” There’s a rustle of Liam’s leg underneath the table, a slight cough from his mum, but Killian can’t quite focus on anyone or anything other than his father. “How would that look for the family’s image, huh? The rumors would swirl. About Emma and I, sure. But they would eventually move onto you. It would be the same if I gave up all of my rights and distanced myself from this family. That would reflect poorly on you as well, not to mention that you would be losing a son, a wonderful daughter-in-law, any possible grandchildren, and you’d allow me to break your wife’s heart. You can’t be so heartless that you don’t even care about the woman you married? You may not have chosen me, but you chose Mum.”

Brennan doesn’t say anything. Nothing at all. His gaze never leaves Killian’s - stoic, steady, and terrifying - but he does manage to place his fork and knife on his plate, arranging them to indicate that he’s finished eating.

The sound of silver hitting against porcelain has never been so all-consuming.

“The two of you won’t last, my boy,” Brennan sighs. “You simply won’t. You think that you will, but you won’t. She’s not made for our world, and you’ve been too blind to see it, but you will. So I do not intend to make any decisions based off of your angry protests when it’ll all be fruitless in the end. You’re not leaving this family.” Brennan turns to look at Allison, and a smile stretches across his lips as he stands from the table. “It was a lovely dinner, Allison. Thank you for arranging it.”

At that, he gets up and leaves the room, and Killian feels like the floor has dissolved underneath his feet and all of the windows around him have shattered, glass shards falling everywhere.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Liam whispers, his voice so quiet that Killian doesn’t think that it’s real. “I’m not....I don’t know the words to say to you.”

“As long as you don’t stand up for him again, I don’t care what you say.”

Liam blinks while his lips part, and Killian thinks that he has something else to say, some other kind of revelation, but then his mouth snaps shut and Killian knows he has nothing else to add.

“For fucks sake, can we all just admit that your father is quite possibly the biggest asshole on the planet?”

Killian doesn’t mean to, not really, but hearing his mother speak like that has his entire body rumbling with laughter. It may be crazy, teetering on manic, but he can’t stop laughing. This is the most fucked up situation, and he doesn’t know anything anymore.

Not a thing.

“Killian,” Allison coos, her small hand landing on his shoulder. It doesn’t ease his laughter, not really. Not until he looks into the blue of her eyes and sees all of the lines on her face. His mother is an ageless beauty, not a single gray hair on her head of auburn hair, but for once, he’s noticing all of the lines that reside on her face. “Killian, darling, are you okay?”

For some reason, these are the words that get to him. When was the last time that someone in his own family asked him if he was okay?

“No,” he honestly admits, the laughter disappearing in one swallow as he leans forward and engulfs his mother’s small frame with his, his head buried into her hair and his arms around her shoulders, “no, I’m not okay. None of this is okay.”

“It will be,” she promises as her hands run up and down his back in one of the most comforting touches he’s ever felt. “I think we’re all broken right now, but I’m going to fix this for you, my darling boy. You and Emma are too precious to me for me not to.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Allison whispers as Killian’s heartbeat settles down. “Why don’t you go home and spend some time with Emma tonight, okay? I think you might need that, and maybe we’ll all do a meal without your father next week.”

Right now, he cannot imagine any kind of dinner where his father is involved ever again, so that sounds beyond preferable.

“Thank you, Mum. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Emma is sprawled out on his bed watching television when he gets home that night. He can see where she’s cleaned most everything in the apartment, which is so unusual for the messiest person he knows, and she must have exhausted herself with making the place look this nice because she barely even acknowledges his presence when he walks in the room.

In her defense, he doesn’t say anything either, simply toes off his shoes and climbs into bed behind her so that she can stick her freezing cold feet between his calves while he wraps his arm around her waist, laying his hand against her stomach, and nuzzles his nose into the nape of her neck.

This, right here, is all he needs right now.

-/-

“You’re quiet today.”

“Huh?” Killian murmurs as he peels a potato, nearly nicking his finger with the razor.

“You’re quiet,” Emma repeats, hopping off of the counter and walking around to him until she’s wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her nose in between his shoulder blades. “You’ve been quiet all day. Is it because of dinner last night? Did it go poorly?”

“No,” Killian lies. He forces himself not to tense up, to stay calm as he continues to prepare lunch. He doesn’t want to tell Emma that yesterday was yet another disaster. There’s not...that’ll freak her out more, and as much as he despises lying to her, it doesn’t seem like a good option to tell her. “It was awkward, as it always is.”

She squeezes him tightly before he feels her lips against the side of his neck. “I’m sorry. Do you want any help with lunch?”

“Considering most of the meal is already cooked, darling, I don’t think so.”

“That’s precisely why I asked now.”

Killian chuckles before putting the peeler down and patting Emma’s hands on his stomach. “Why don’t you - ” There’s a chime that courses through the house, quickly followed by another. “Why don’t you go answer the door for Ariel and Eric, love?”

“Because then I have to meet them without you by my side.”

“I feel like you’ll survive without any scars.”

Emma slaps his stomach before releasing him, and then she’s walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway so that she can walk toward the front door. A part of him wants to follow and see Emma meet Ariel for the first time simply because Ariel is far too over-dramatic about everything and will likely freak Emma out, but it’s a good thing that they’re finally meeting. Ariel is basically his Ruby, especially lately with Robin moving to America to be with his new wife, and she and Emma should be able to get along.

There’s a slight murmuring that Killian can hear, which means Ariel is being far louder than anyone should be when meeting someone for the first time, and Killian chuckles under his breath before putting the potato slices in the pan and leaning over to the sink to turn the water on, sticking his hands underneath to wash them quickly, fully expecting everyone to walk into the kitchen.

They don’t.

The murmuring stays at the same volume, and there are no creaks in the floorboard or any indication that they’ve started to move toward him.

Not wanting Emma to be overwhelmed, Killian moves out of the kitchen and turns the corner to walk down the hallway to the front door, running his hand along a side table where he’s finally placed a framed picture of he and Emma since he no longer has to hide their relationship, before seeing that Emma, Ariel, and Eric are all still standing in the foyer with Ariel animatedly moving her hands back and forth while Emma stares ahead with a timid, slightly terrified smile on her face.

“ - and he wasn’t wearing any trousers.”

“What?” Emma laughs out, glancing over at him before looking back to Ariel. “What do you mean he wasn’t wearing any pants?”

“The woman he’d spent the night with stole them, and I had to bring him a new pair.”

“Okay,” Killian interrupts, walking toward them much more quickly now that he knows exactly what Ariel is talking about. “Maybe that’s not the best story to be telling Emma. You’ve been here for five minutes. How have you even gotten to this point?”

Eric raises both of his brows and shrugs his shoulders while Ariel simply smiles. “Emma told me that she liked my jeans, and it spiraled.”

“Ah, of course.” Killian leans in and kisses Ariel’s cheek before resting his hand on the small of Emma’s back and pulling her to his side. “That makes perfect sense. Why don’t the two of you come into the kitchen? I’m about to put the potatoes in the oven, and I can get you all something to drink.”

“That would be wonderful, mate,” Eric sighs. “I don’t believe Ariel is going to stop talking to Emma for long enough to have anything to drink, though.”

Ariel slaps her husband’s shoulder, and Emma snickers into Killian’s shoulder.

Unlike nearly everyone else in his world who Emma has met, this meeting goes smoothly. It goes fucking fantastically, actually. Ariel is her usual bubbly, hopeful self who is constantly talking and telling stories, letting Killian and Eric interject on occasion, and she does everything in her power to make Emma comfortable. It’s obvious that she’s doing it on purpose, that she wants Emma to feel like there will be absolutely no drama tonight and that she wants her to forget that Ariel is the one to read every nasty article about her online, and Killian is damn thankful for it.

Emma has been shell-shocked being a part of his world, to the point that she’s questioned if she can do it, so seeing her smiling and animatedly talking to Ariel and Eric about her interests and her job is the most refreshing thing in the world.

It’s hope in the midst of the darkness that he’s been feeling surrounding him.

Eric takes over the meal preparation, which tends to happen every time Eric comes over and sees someone cooking at a slightly slower pace than he would, and it doesn’t take long before they’re all sitting down at Killian’s kitchen table with wine glasses in their hands and roast and scalloped potatoes on their plates while Ariel tells more appropriate stories about him than ones where his one night stand stole his clothes.

It’s much nicer to hear about the time he convinced one of his professors that he was not allowed to sit for an exam on his deceased grandfather’s birthday even if that does not paint him in the best light.

Emma has seen the good and bad in him already, though, and she’s always told him that she’ll choose to see the best in him. She won’t seek out the worst, especially those things in his past.

“You didn’t go to University did you, Emma?” Ariel asks.

Emma emits a small cough before taking a sip of wine and shaking her head. “No, I never got the opportunity to. I think I would have liked to study criminal justice or family studies if I had, though. I’m not sure. It’s been so long since I’ve given it any real thought.”

Killian immediately squeezes his hand around her thigh and leans over to press his lips against her cheek, lingering there for a moment too long. “Would everyone like some tea? And to maybe move to the living room so that we can sit on the couches? This chair is killing my back.”

“That is the oldest you have ever sounded,” Ariel laughs.

“This is the oldest I have ever been.”

“You make a good point, my friend.”

They all shuffle around in the kitchen rinsing plates and packing away the leftover food into containers while Killian puts a kettle on the stove and turns it on to let the water boil. It’s a bit of a mess with so many people moving about, but they manage to get it done without breaking any plates or bumping into each other too much.

(He does squeeze Emma’s ass, but that was entirely intentional. The playfully exasperated smile on her face afterward is worth it.)

(She’s magnificent, and every day he grows to love her more.)

Emma’s already sitting down on the couch when he walks in the room with a tray of mugs of tea for everyone even though Emma continues to insist that she doesn’t like tea. It’s been an argumentative point in their relationship, one right up there with him not liking grilled cheese sandwiches, but it’s all a bit of kidding and joshing around...mostly. Emma is serious about her grilled cheese which he can’t even stomach, and Emma will at least drink tea if there’s enough milk in her cup.

It’s not something he should truly complain about.

Killian puts the tray down on the end table between the two couches, picking up Ariel and Eric’s mugs and handing it to them, before sitting down next to Emma, scooting closer until their thighs are brushing together and he can knock his ankle into hers. She looks over to him and smiles, a small, wry one, but it’s a smile all the same. He can tell that she’s exhausted now, that meeting more new people and having to deal with Ariel and all of her bubbliness is a lot for Emma, but she’s handling it like Emma handles everything: with an undeniable strength and grace that he’s never seen in anyone else.

But today is a good day, another one where they can simply be each other in spite of their recent struggles, and Killian hopes that Emma feels the same.

There’s a twitch of movement against his hand, the warmth of skin and the cool feel of metal, and Killian glances down to see Emma twining their fingers together, each finger slowly landing down against his palm, before she’s bringing their joined hands up to her lips to kiss and then pulling his entire arm over her shoulders so that he can pull her closer to his side and so that Emma can rest her head on his shoulder, a few of her stray hairs reaching up to get caught in his mouth.

It’s a silent show of affection, one he knows not to take for granted after everything, and Killian tilts his head down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla of her shampoo. When he looks up, he can see Ariel staring over at him, her eyes bright and her smile even brighter, and he rolls his eyes, completely and totally exasperated with her. She’s been like that all afternoon, and as obnoxious as it is, at least someone has a good reaction to him and Emma dating.

Or, at least, better in comparison. Ariel was a little pissed at first, but she understood. Of course she did.

“So,” Ariel starts, putting her tea down on the table in front of her before grabbing the remote and clapping her hands together, “what do we want to watch? Are we feeling a movie? A television show? And if we are, what about a drama? Or comedy? Ooh, or maybe romance.”

“Scroll through the channels and see if you find something you like,” Killian tells her, knowing that Ariel takes forever to pick something to watch. She likes Emma in that way. “I’m sure by the time we find something, we’ll all be ready to go to bed.”

“That’s not true,” Ariel protests.

“It’s entirely true,” Eric agrees, flashing a smile down at his wife. “You can never make a decision about anything in a timely manner. We’ve missed so many dinner reservations because of you not being able to find something to wear.”

“We don’t even need reservations at a lot of those places.”

“But if we didn’t have them, we’d spend the entire night trying to decide on a place to eat.”

“Whatever,” Ariel huffs, and Killian snickers into Emma’s hair before pulling them both back to more comfortably rest against the couch cushions.

He reaches over and grabs his tea, offering it to Emma, but she shakes her head no as she pays attention to Ariel flips through the channels, stopping every now and then to see what a particular show is and if she wants to watch it. She usually doesn’t, but seeing her decide is all part of the show apparently.

“Stop,” Emma blurts out as her hand tightens over Killian’s. “Go back to the last channel.”

“Sure,” Ariel sighs, flipping the channel back.

“We dated when we were younger,” the man on the television says, his entire face crinkling with a smile that wants to send a shiver down Killian’s spine. “She was a real riot, you know? She’d always sneak out of the house or lie to her parents so that we could spend time together. It was thrilling.”

“Did you love her?” the interviewer asks.

“Of course I did,” the man smiles. “She was the love of my life. I still think that I’m the love of her life as well.”

“Emma, darling,” Killian starts when her hand tightens so strongly against his that he may lose his fingers, “who is this?”

“Neal.”

Killian’s stomach flips, twists, turns inside out. It does anything and everything that it’s not natural for it to do. His cheeks are flaming, blood boiling within him, and Killian can see the black hairs on his arms rising as gooseflesh pops up underneath.

Neal fucking Cassidy is giving an interview about Emma.

The bastard who broke her heart and tried to send Emma to jail is saying that Emma is the love of his life and that he is the love of hers.

No.

Not at all.

“A, turn the television off.”

Ariel nods her head in silence and holds the remote up before Emma speaks. “No, don’t. I want to hear him.”

“Swan - ”

“I want to fucking hear him.”

“If she’s the love of your life,” the interviewer continues, “why are you not still together? Your young love didn’t last?”

“Ah, well, Emma made a few mistakes. You know, that awful business with the stolen watches and her trial that’s been splashed everywhere lately. It was such a difficult time for her, for the both of us, and afterward, we were never quite back to normal.”

Fucking liar.

“So what do you think of her relationship with Prince Killian?”

Neal scoffs before pressing a smile onto his lips. This is the first time that Killian has ever seen any kind of image of Neal. Emma has never kept any, and Killian dared not betray her trust by looking him up online. He’s obviously older than Emma, something anyone with eyes could see, and yet he’s acting like they’re the same age, that they were both foolish teenagers when they dated.

Only Emma was a teenager.

And Neal set her up for his crime. How in the world can he get away with sharing such blatant lies?

How?

How did no one know that this blasted interview was happening? Someone should have known so that they wouldn’t be blindsided by this.

“I don’t think it will last,” Neal smugly says, and Emma’s finger loosen around his, their hands no longer staying intertwined as the two of them lean forward. Killian can feel the tension radiating from Emma and the vibrations from her tapping her leg. “I know that you all likely see Emma as a pretty girl with a bright smile and a checkered past who is finding her happily ever after, but I know Emma. That’s not her. She’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of woman, and that’s what she’ll do here. This kind of life isn’t for her, and really, it’s not for him either, is it? He’s not exactly got a great track record with relationships either. I believe this will be a blip on the radar in a few years.”

“What a tool,” Eric mutters out.

“Turn it off,” Emma finally says in a shaky voice before standing up from the couch. “Fucking turn it off.”

Killian leans forward to touch her, a simple hand on her shoulder, and her body starts to shake with sobs. Killian was really hoping he wouldn’t have to see her sob like this any time soon. It was already so much the last time. There are few things in life more jarring than seeing Emma falter in her steadiness and her strength, and that’s exactly what’s happening here.

She shouldn’t have to continue going through things that keep trying to break her. She doesn’t deserve that. No one does.

“Can you call my dad?” she croaks out, her voice struggling from breaking, and he’s got David dialed before a tear manages to escape her eye and roll down her face.

When David arrives forty minutes later, after some trouble getting someone to cover his job at the pub – it’s still like a madhouse there now with all of the people itching to see where Emma works – Emma’s calmed down and Eric and Ariel have long since left, apologies on both of their lips. Ariel in particular promises that she’s going to try to get this to stop, to figure out some kind of solution.

There don’t seem to be a lot of solutions. .

“Dad,” Emma cries out when David walks through the door and into the living room.

“Shhh, honey,” David comforts, wrapping his arms around his daughter as he sits down with her on the sofa, “it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Killian can’t hear anything else David says to Emma. He doesn’t even try, stepping away from the room and walking down the hall and past the staircase so that he can sit in his study and down a tumbler of rum that burns more than it soothes.

He did this to Emma.

Killian did.

Neal may have been the one to give the interview, one they only saw part of and is likely much worse than their small glimpse, but the only reason Neal had the avenue to come back into Emma’s life was because of Killian. 

Her old ghosts are coming back to haunt her when she thought they were finally, officially dead.

It’s his fault.

Time passes in slow motion, everything blurred and running around in circles, the same words repeating over and over again in his head. Killian can’t think, can scarcely breathe.

Emma is hurting so much that she needed her father to come and comfort her, and Killian is a selfish enough asshole that he’s hurt that he couldn’t be the one.

He selfishly wonders what it must be like to have a father who is willing to be so emotionally present for his child.

None of that matters, though. None at all. The love of his life, and Killian does mean that, is hurting. The person who made her build up her walls, who darkened her heart, just came crashing back into her life, and she’s having to deal with the emotional fall out. Killian cannot imagine.

Not at all.

Just as he’s debating whether or not he wants to go from slightly buzzed to full on drunk, David walks into the study and sits in the chair across from his desk, burying his face in his hands and not saying a word. Killian doesn’t say anything either, simply allows David to take the time that he needs, and his thoughts clear so that he can wonder where Emma is now and if she’s feeling any better after talking to David.

“He’s a damn bastard,” David finally spits out, bitterness seeping through his voice in a way Killian didn’t know was possible for the man who has shown him kindness even when he was unsure of him dating his daughter. “He’s a damn bastard who I never should have let anywhere near her. The fact that he can still put her through shit over eight years later is impeccable. To know that she’s worked so hard to overcome what he fucking put her through and for him to still be the selfish asshole he’s always been. How can one person be such a dick? It’s like you think humanity can’t sink any lower, but then you meet a guy like him.”

“Where’s Emma?” Killian questions, knowing that there’s no real way for him to answer David’s question about Neal being an undeniable dick. Some people are just assholes. And while some can redeem themselves, others are too selfish to even try or deserve it. If he’s spent more time than he’s proud of thinking about how satisfying it would be to punch Neal Cassidy in the face, that’s something he’ll keep to himself.

“She’s taking a shower,” David answers, finally taking his hand off of his face. “It’s always made her feel better, and she can cry out the rest of her tears in there if she feels like it without us having to see.”

“Why do you –” Killian stops and runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up in a new way, “why did she call you? You know, instead of me? She’s leaned on me for almost everything for a long time, and I don’t mean to be selfish, but it’s just worrying me a little that I couldn’t help. Or that she didn’t want me to help. We’ve been through so much, and I - ”

David looks at him, tilting his head to the side as he studies Killian before speaking, shrugging his shoulders in a move that’s quintessentially Emma. “Sometimes a kid just needs their dad, you know?”

“I don’t.”

And it’s the most honest Killian has ever been with David about his relationship with his father. He knows that David knows a lot about him just from their time together and from Emma, but he’s never explicitly talked to David about his issues with his family.

“Killian,” David sighs, hesitating the slightest bit before speaking again, “I know that your relationship with your family is…difficult. Emma’s told us that Liam’s not exactly your best friend and that your father is one of those aforementioned assholes, but you have your mom and Elsa and Alex. And soon the new baby. Most importantly, you have Emma. And you have Mary Margaret and me. We can’t replace your parents and we can’t change what you’ve been through, but we’ll always be here for you. You’re the son we never knew we wanted but got lucky enough to end up with anyway.”

Killian can’t look at David. He just stares at a particularly interesting piece of chipped paint on the wall, and nods at him, a timid smile budding on his face at the kind words. What he would give to have grown up with a father like David.

That would have been everything to him.

When Emma comes downstairs to join the two of them, clad in black leggings and a jumper, wet hair twisted into two braids, she looks calm, like the shower really did do her some good in washing away her pent-up emotions. He can still see the red, puffy eyes, but they’re not as bad as he thought they would be.

“You want to get some hot cocoa, love?

“God, yes,” she practically groans. “I also really want, like, an entire cake, but that’s probably not my best idea.”

“I think it sounds just right.”

David stays with them for a few hours, sipping on hot chocolate and nibbling on leftovers from lunch while talking to the two of them, doing pretty much anything to distract Emma from what’s been going on today. It works, at least on the surface, and Killian is thankful for David yet again for more than words can express.

How has today even been real?

David leaves late that night, whispering words of needing to check back in at the pub and on Mary Margaret, who has surely been affected by this ordeal as well, and Killian and Emma quickly move upstairs, going through their nightly routines side by side before crawling into bed and pulling the thick comforter up over them.

It’s dark, no light in the room except from the lamps outside the bedroom window, and just as Killian thinks Emma has finally fallen asleep, her breathing evening out, she speaks. “You know it wasn’t because I don’t trust you, right? Or because I don’t think you can be the one I go to when things get tough?”

“What are you talking about, love?” he questions even though he already knows.

He feels her move even with his eyes closed, the bed shifting under her slight weight. “When I asked you to call my dad,” she explains, “it wasn’t because I don’t trust you or want you to be there for me. I always want you to be there, to be _here_ , with me.”

“Emma, I know that.”

“He was just there for me through the whole situation, and as much as I’ve told you, it’s different talking to someone who actually experienced it with me. I trust you with everything in my life, but I…he’s the reason I’ve always had all of these walls. He’s why...he’s why I’m so fucked up.

“Hey,” Killian immediately protests. “I liked your walls. I liked being the one to break them down. I hate what that bastard did to you, but I don’t think you’re fucked up. I’m a fan of every part of you.”

Emma lets out a small noise, something between a gasp and a sigh, before she’s shifting closer to him and tucking her feet between his calves and wrapping her arm around his waist while she buries her head against his chest. Killian threads his fingers through her hair, gently pulling out the tangles and rubbing her back while Emma lets out small puffs of air.

“I love you, Killian. I - ”

“You what, darling?” he asks when she hesitates for a beat too long.

“Nothing, nothing. I just love you. That’s all.

“And I you, my love.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**July 27th, 2018**

Rain beats down against the pavement and rustles the limbs of the trees, falling heavily enough that it’s difficult to see without any kind of protection, but Emma keeps jogging despite this. Her clothes are soaked through, a mixture of sweat from the muggy July heat and the rain beating down from above, and her shoes are heavy enough to be uncomfortable. She can’t stop running, though.

She can’t.

If Emma stops, her thoughts can catch up to her, reaching her brain and festering even more than they already have, and Emma simply cannot deal with any shit right now. All she wants to do is run and run and run until her feet are swollen and ache and her lungs burn in a fire that the rain won’t extinguish.

She needs this physical exertion more than she’s ever needed anything.

Regent’s Park is mostly empty, all of the tourists and university students hiding indoors instead of braving the awful weather, much worse than London’s usual mid-summer climate, but that’s pretty much par for the course on how things are going lately. The world doesn’t revolve around Emma, something she has always been thankful for, but right now, the weather feels a hell of a lot like it’s revolving around her mood.

Gloom and doom and burning anger all wrapped up into a pretty package that she wants to rip apart.

Tugging her hat on her head to shield her eyes from the rain, Emma runs a little faster, deciding to sprint to the end of this particular path before she can slow back down to a regular pace that she won’t actually regret running in the morning when her limbs cry out to her. Quickly, she moves, letting her legs take her as fast as she can past lush green trees and damp grass that surrounds the cement pavement covered in dips that are collecting water.

In a blink of an eye, she’s there.

And so are several photographers.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Emma mutters under her breath before she looks around and tries to decide the best way for her to get out of this.

The flashes of the lights are blinding, the yelling terrifying, and despite the fact that this has been happening to her for over two months now, Emma cannot get used to being chased by photographers and reporters and everyday people who want to take a picture with her. She can’t do this right now, so she does what she always does and bolts.

She bolts, running as fast as she can through the unmarked paths, her shoes getting muddy and completely ruined, but she knows this park well enough to know that this is the fastest way out of here. A few of the photographers follow her, their footsteps squishing in the soft ground behind her, and while Emma knows that this isn’t the best idea, she can’t just stand there and deal with these people today. Maybe on another day or in another lifetime or...no, she can’t even go there.

Eventually, there are no more footsteps behind Emma, no more flashes, but she doesn’t stop until she’s fumbling with her keys and going through the side entrance of the pub, tracking mud inside but not caring because she’s finally at home and safe and no one is following her.

No one.

A vision of Neal flashes in her mind, a mixture of him at twenty combined with him now at twenty-nine. There are wrinkles in places where they shouldn’t, early gray hairs mixing in with the brown of his scruffy beard, but that smile is just the same.

She used to love that smile.

Now it makes her want to vomit and hide away under the covers in her bed for an undetermined amount of time, possibly forever.

It’s been maybe a month, give or take a few days, since Emma was sitting in Killian’s living room after having lunch with he, Ariel, and Eric, and she saw her ex-boyfriend’s face pop up as he spewed lie after lie about her with the smile that looked just the same despite the passing of years.

_“I don’t think it will last. I know that you all likely see Emma as a pretty girl with a bright smile and a checkered past who is finding her happily ever after, but I know Emma. That’s not her. She’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of woman, and that’s what she’ll do here. This kind of life isn’t for her, and really, it’s not for him either, is it? He’s not exactly got a great track record with relationships either. I believe this will be a blip on the radar in a few years.”_

His last words repeat over and over in her mind, like a record set on repeat. She can see his face as he says each word, hear the inflection in his tone. Then again, she’s watched the interview several times by now, like the glutton for punishment that she is, and she really does have the entire thing memorized. Neal, who was an asshole dating a minor and thought it would be a fucking fantastic idea to set her up for his crime so that her life would be forever ruined, has somehow painted himself in a good light and is making money off of once knowing her.

He’s making money off of telling stories about her, nothing more than half-truths and fabricated memories. It’s sickening. The man should be in jail. He should have his life ruined for everything that he’s done.

He should be punished for what he tried to do to her, for what he’s still doing to her.

Neal Cassidy doesn’t deserve anything from her, and yet he’s been able to take up space inside her head once more.

He’s in her head, and he won’t leave.

Emma’s legs shake beneath her, any stability that she had disappearing into thin air, and instead of fighting any of it, instead of resisting, she sinks down against the wall until her ass is sitting on the ground and she’s no longer having to hold herself up. Her entire life is currently being exposed on television, online, in newspapers, magazines, any kind of printed press imaginable. She can barely do her job, most nights having to leave early due to the high volume of people coming inside the pub. Her parents have had to hire security and start charging a cover simply to get in a place that used to be a safe haven for those who wanted to have a pint and some food after work.

This isn’t what this place is.

This is what her life is supposed to be.

She can’t even breathe without someone following her or taking her picture, and she’s supposed to act like this is all fine.

Like she’s fine when she very clearly isn’t.

“Emma?” her mom calls out, and Emma quickly wipes the tears out of her eyes so that Mary Margaret can’t see them mixed in with all of the rain. “Emma, sweetheart, is that you?”

“Yeah,” she calls back, standing up from the ground and slipping out of her socks and shoes. “The rain caught me by surprise, so I’m trying to dry off before making the pub all dirty.”

Mary Margaret pokes her head around the corner. “Oh, darling. You’re soaked through. Let me get you a towel, okay? Don’t move.”

“Thanks.”

Emma turns to look behind her at the door, making sure that the small glass window is still covered, before taking off her shirt, the material clinging to her skin enough to give her some trouble. She’s a mess, honestly, and it doesn’t get much better as her mom brings her the towel and Emma completely strips out of her clothes before wrapping the cloth around her and walking through the pub and up the stairs to the apartment in just a towel with an armful of disgusting clothes and hair that is going to take several deep conditions to detangle. Her dad is sitting at the kitchen table with a calculator and his glasses on, most likely doing the bookkeeping she keeps trying to get him to do on a computer, but he always refuses.

She’s not the only person in this family who is stubborn.

“Hey, hon,” David greets as she puts the clothes in the washing machine. “Why are you wearing a towel?”

“Mom didn’t want me getting mud everywhere.”

“That doesn’t at all answer my question, but I’ll take it.”

Emma huffs, a smile breaking through on her lips, before she’s pouring detergent in the slot and hitting the buttons to start the machine. Instead of going to her room and getting clothes, she grabs some freshly folded sweatpants and a t-shirt off the shelves and slips into them before walking back to the kitchen and turning the stove on so that she can make herself some hot chocolate. She would spend more time making the good stuff instead of it being instant out of a packet, but the adrenaline high she was on while running away from all of those photographers has left her completely and totally drained.

The run was supposed to be her safe haven.

It wasn’t.

David hums along to a song that Emma doesn’t recognize as she waits for the water to boil, and once it has, she finishes making her drink, putting a more than healthy amount of whipped cream and cinnamon on top of it. It may be hot outside, but she’s starting to shiver, the dampness of her skin not helping.

“How was your run?” her dad asks.

“Fine.”

“That’s all? Fine?”

Emma shrugs and settles down across from him at the table before bringing her knees to her chest. “It was a run. It was never going to be fantastic. Fine is fine.”

David looks up at her with furrowed brows and slanted eyes, but she looks away, her eyes directed down toward her drink. “I’ve been thinking about closing the pub in October. We’ve been making more money than usual, and we can afford it. Maybe we could travel a little bit, get away from all the craziness and have a month long celebration for your birthday.”

“We can’t just take the entire month of October off.”

“Why not? Consider a birthday present.”

“I don’t want to take October off.” Emma sets her mug on the table and crosses her arms over her chest while the rumble of clothes and pitter of rain fill the air. “I want to work. I want to serve beer to Al and Peter and all of our regulars. I want to have to clean up the napkins from the floor. I want everything to be normal for once, and normal is not taking a month off to go travel. That is not us.”

“Emma - ”

“What?” she screeches out, her voice foreign even to herself. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” she smugly replies before standing from the chair and pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

Emma knows that her dad’s eyes are on her when she walks away, but she doesn’t care. He asked her the question that no one has been asking her, and while all she’s wanted was to be able to talk about the storm that is her mind, she can’t. She physically cannot talk about everything that’s going on.

Especially to her parents.

Their entire lives have been flipped upside down because she fell in love, and how is it fair to lay more burdens on them?

Quickly, she moves to her bedroom, closing the door shut behind her and climbing up into her bed so that she can pull the comforter over her body and will the warmth to come back to her. Outside, the heat was sweltering even with the rain. Right now, she’s not sure that she’s ever been so cold.

That’s such a ridiculous thought, but she can’t get it out of her head.

The courtroom used to be cold, the air in the courthouse chilled enough that she had to bring a sweater inside when it was warm outside. Her skin was always covered in goosebumps, any tan that she had fading away, and Emma could never stop shivering as she sat and had to listen to lies about her over and over again.

It’s funny how things like that don’t change almost a decade later.

She’s not going to jail this time. That’s not even on the table. But somehow the lies and the constant media attention are worse.

Every single thing is pulling her down, even when she tries to avoid it all, and Emma doesn’t know how to handle any of it. There’s no precedence for this.

There is no one to help her.

Her phone buzzes in her hand, and Emma flinches, sure that it’s going to be another notification about her from a news site that she swears she unsubscribed from, but it’s not.

**Killian:** Are you working tonight?

**Emma:** No.

**Killian:** Would you be interested in having dinner with Mum and Elsa? I promise that there will be no Liam and no Dad. It’ll simply be the four of us and possibly Alexander.

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and twists in her bed, the sheets tangling between her legs as she contemplates going to dinner with Killian and his family. She wants to, if only because spending time with Killian seems to calm down the thoughts in her mind. He’s able to take away all of the outside chaos that’s beating her down without him even knowing that he’s doing that.

But that’s the thing.

Killian doesn’t know how much she’s struggling with everything. He doesn’t know how hard this has been on her, not really, and that’s all on her for not telling him. She’s had so many opportunities to be honest and tell him how she’s feeling, but she’s terrified of it.

He’s got so much going on too. His family is in shambles, something he’s having to deal with every day, and it’s all because of her.

Killian is distressed because of her.

How can she add on more to that? How can she make anything worse? It’s so much easier to hoard all of these thoughts and feelings and fears inside so that she’s not a burden to anyone else.

But also, how can she go and have dinner with these people when their loved ones keep punching her down and then kicking her once she’s on the ground?

How could she say no to Killian when she’s desperate to cling onto some sense of normalcy, and sometimes seeing his smile is the only thing that brings her any sense of comfort?

**Emma:** Sure. I’ll be there.

-/-

“No, I’m not kidding,” Emma laughs. “He really came into the pub soaking wet. I mean, drenched like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and when he sat down on the leather of the seats, I died a little inside.”

“Killian,” Allison scolds even though there’s laughter in her voice and a smile so similar to Killian’s that it makes Emma’s heart sting. “You should have known better than that.”

Killian shrugs his shoulders before raising his arm and wrapping it around Emma’s shoulder. He’s a warm and solid presence next to her on the couch in his living room, and little by little as she’s spent the evening with him, Allison, and Elsa, her mind has returned back to normal. She’s no longer freaking out or worrying about what people are saying about her. She’s no longer focused on Neal or Brennan or Liam.

All that she’s focused on are the people around her and the nice time that they’ve had sharing a meal together.

How in the world did these two wonderfully kind women marry men who are absolute pieces of work?

Allison likely didn’t have much choice with how different things were even thirty-nine years ago, and Emma honestly cannot fathom living life with a partner who isn’t someone she chose herself or who she doesn’t love.

But that’s not what she’s supposed to be thinking about. Not tonight. Tonight is for better things.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Killian explains while his hand rubs up and down her shoulder. “I was cold and upset and simply thankful to see a warm, dry place where I could get something to drink. Then this absolute spitfire of a woman came and dragged me up to her apartment and stripped me out of my clothes.”

“Killian,” Emma gasps, laughter beginning to rumble through her that she has to press down. “Stop.”

“Oh, I’m not under any illusion that the two of you aren’t sleeping together, darling,” Allison sighs, and Emma begins choking on the air that she’s breathing, embarrassment coursing through her veins as she tries to keep red from flooding her cheeks. “You don’t have to be modest.”

“No, n-no, it’s okay,” Emma sighs. This is awkward as hell. “I’m perfectly okay with being modest here. I did not sleep with your son the day that I met him. I offered him clothes to wear so that he didn’t die of pneumonia or something. That’s all. We really don’t have to talk about this.”

“We really do,” Killian whispers in her ear, his voice low and seductive so that a shiver runs down her spine. He’s a jerk and is trying to torture her on purpose. “I once had to have a conversation with your father about us sleeping in the same bedroom, so obviously it’s time for a little bit of payback.”

“This is not the way to get payback. I’m not talking about our sex life with your mom.”

“I had to talk about it with Dave.”

“That doesn’t mean we need to have this conversation.”

“So,” Elsa interrupts, and she and Killian both spring apart from each other at the sound of someone else’s voice, “now that everything's out in the open with the two of you, do you think that maybe you’ll move here, Emma? I’m sure it would be nice to be able to be together more often.”

Emma’s shoulders tense, and she has to work to swallow the lump in her throat that’s interfering with her breathing. If she wasn’t so focused on the lack of airflow, she’d focus on the way that Killian’s arm has stiffened around her shoulder.

“Um, I don’t - we haven’t...I - ”

“We haven’t spoken about it, Els,” Killian answers for her, and she knows that she didn’t imagine the strained sound of his voice. “That’s not really been our priority.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Elsa sighs with a genuine smile on her face. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I know that I shouldn’t have. I simply thought with you being together for so long and all of the media attention that Emma has been getting that it was the next natural step. I didn’t mean to make either of you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not as simple for us as it was for you,” Killian spits out before moving his arm away from her body and standing from the couch. “We’ve got a few roadblocks that aren’t too easy to hurdle.”

“Killian,” Emma cautions, “she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Aye, aye, I know.” He rubs his hand up and down his face before pacing back and forth in the room. “I’m sorry. Let’s...does anyone want anything to drink? I can get us something to drink.”

“I think we’re all set, darling,” Allison sighs with a tight smile. “Let’s sit down. I want to hear more about how you and Emma met. It simply sounds like the most delightful love story.”

Killian nods his head and quickly glances back at her. “I think I’d like a glass of wine, so I’ll be a moment before coming back.”

At that, he quickly walks out of the living room and turns the corner to disappear into the kitchen, leaving Emma with Allison and Elsa in a room so silent that the clock can be heard ticking on the wall.

Why the hell does Killian have an analog clock hanging on the wall? What century is he living in?

Emma shifts on the couch, readjusting herself from where she moved after Killian got up, and she tucks her calves up underneath her thighs before looking down at her hand and twisting her ring up and down over her knuckle.

“That was a foolish thing for me to say,” Elsa begins, and Emma’s eyes snap up to look at Elsa. “I’m sorry. I simply - Killian and I talk quite frequently about the two of you, and I didn’t think there was any harm in asking. Which was idiotic because I despise when people talk about my personal life.”

“It’s fine,” Emma promises, even if she’s not sure that it is. “I don’t...I’m not really too sure why Killian reacted the way that he did. I...yeah, I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about everything because it just seems so overwhelming, you know? But maybe now that Brennan has calmed down a bit, we can - ”

Both Elsa and Allison gasp, a sharp intake of breath, and Emma stops talking to look over at the two of them as they look at each other.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing, darling,” Allison insists, but Emma knows that it’s a lie. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

“No, what? What are you both silently telling each other that you’re not telling me?”

Allison glances over at Elsa, and Emma’s heart drops into her stomach, as if that is physically possible.

“Killian hasn’t spoken to his father in nearly two months besides the dinner we had at the end of June,” Allison explains. “It went horribly. I’m so ashamed of my husband and how he’s dealing with this entire situation, but he hasn’t calmed down. I’ve tried to...I’ve tried to reason with him, to make him see how foolish he has been for years, but he only seems to become more irate.”

“Oh, I, um…”

“It has nothing to do with you, love,” Allison says, but Emma knows that’s a lie too. “Brennan is a deeply unhappy man who is stuck in the past and the way that he was raised. I should have tried talking with him years ago, but I’m afraid I was too much of a coward.”

“Your husband’s actions are not on you, Allison.” Emma presses her lips into a small smile even as her cheeks heat and a bit of nausea comes over her. “You don’t have to explain anything about your life to me. I wouldn’t ask that from either of you.”

“We’re here to help you, Emma,” Elsa sighs, and as much as Emma believes her, she’s not sure any of this is true. She’s been so isolated for two months now, and it really doesn’t feel like anyone is here to help her. “Like I’ve said before, I know that it’s not the same, but I have been through something similar. I know the pressures you’re under.”

Emma bites her tongue. “I think that I’m going to go and check on Killian, okay? I’m sure we’ll be right back.”

“Actually, it’s getting late. I’ve got to go and check on Liam and Alexander, and my back is beginning to ache. It wasn’t like this at six months with Alex, and I’m dying a little bit.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma smiles when she gets up from the couch and walks over to the two of them. “I completely understand. I’m glad the two of you came over. I’m sorry it ended the way that it did.”

“It’s actually been a relatively calm family dinner,” Allison jokes as she hugs Emma. “Killian may be the least dramatic of all of the men in this family.”

“That’s saying something.”

“You’re telling me.”

Emma says her goodbyes to the two of them, trying her hardest to be someone who is good at small talk with people she doesn’t know particularly well and with making things less awkward, but she honestly had no idea whether or not she did anything to the effect. It’s been a weird night, a weird day really, and Emma really, desperately needs it to be over.

She also has to deal with Killian, and frankly, that all seems like too much right now. She spent her morning getting literally chased by photographers who are trying to ruin her life, her afternoon working in a place that feels almost foreign to her now, and then her night has been spent talking to the two people who, while kind, are married to the men who are helping to make her life miserable.

It’s not their fault. If anything, Emma doesn’t believe Liam is actually a bad guy. Her mother has instilled enough faith in humanity in Emma for her to see the good in the man, but then she remembers the sharp words and the way that she’s been treated by him. And all Emma feels for Allison is some kind of pity that she’s been married to a man who obviously doesn’t know how to love.

How does she even have anything left emotionally to be able to handle thinking about all of this when she has been stripped bare of all compassion and left wondering if there’s any left in others?

Trying to shake it all off, Emma walks out of the living room and heads toward the kitchen where Killian is sitting on a barstool with his head in his hands, half-empty glass of amber liquid sitting in front of him.

“So,” she starts, as she runs her hand over his back and down his arm before walking to the other side of the island so that she can look at Killian, “I think the only person we’re allowed to spend time with is Ruby. She’s the only one who doesn’t cause any drama.”

Killian grunts in response, his hands unmoving.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“I said nothing.”

“And I still asked about it,” Emma scoffs. “For fuck’s sake, Killian. You stormed off from a dinner that you asked me to attend. You don’t get to be all huffy about something and then not tell me about it.”

Killian’s head lifts from his hands so that she can look at him, actually look at him. He’s tired. Was he this tired earlier? “Really? You’re going to pull that card?”

“What card?”

He flicks his hand in front of her. “The one where you argue with me about not sharing things when I feel like you haven’t talked to me in weeks.”

“We talk all the time.”

“We speak, but we don’t talk.”

Emma rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest as her eyes flicker down to look at Killian while his jaw talks. “Is this because Elsa asked about us moving in together?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

His fingers tap against the smooth white countertop before reaching forward and wrapping around the glass until his knuckles turn white. “Yes, Swan, it’s because Elsa asked us about moving in together. It’s because we haven’t talked about much of anything in the past two months, and I’m so damn tired of it. We used to talk about everything, and now there’s a divide.”

“You? You’re tired of it? You are?” Emma barks out a laugh and turns around, fully wishing that she had Killian’s glass of rum. “I have had my life torn apart for two months. Every single thing about me is on the news or online. The ex-boyfriend who tried to send me to jail for his crimes is making money off of spreading lies about me. He is taking advantage of me again. I have to see his face again. I have to do that. Do you know what else I have to do, Killian? Huh?”

He doesn’t say anything, staring blankly ahead at her with barely even a blink of an eye.

“I have to have my boyfriend lie to me,” she continues with anger coursing through her, “about the fact that his asshole of a dad is still being an asshole, that things aren’t actually getting better. I’m having to deal with people chasing me as I go for a run, people grabbing onto me at the pub because they think I’m some kind of public property, and your brother talking to me like I’m some piece of meat while your father completely ignores my existence. My entire life has been turned upside down, and nothing makes any sense anymore!”

Killian drops the glass against the counter, and all she can focus on is the ripple of the rum. “You were chased by photographers? People have been touching you? When in the world did Liam talk to you? Bloody hell. Why haven’t you told me any of this?”

“Why haven’t _you_ told me about anything?”

“The things I haven’t told you are vastly different from what you haven’t told me.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Emma,” Killian says, his voice sharp. He stands from the stool and starts pacing back and forth with his hands threaded into his hair, the black strands all pushed around. “It’s fucking not. When did Liam talk to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If my brother is being a bastard to you, it matters. I need to know. I thought he was getting better, but he’s obviously not.”

Emma blinks over at him, and she really needs him to stop moving, to stop pacing. Her head is spinning in circles. “I don’t know. A month ago. I was leaving here, and he caught me in the courtyard with some shit about how I’m not good enough for you and how we won’t last. He pretty much said the same thing everyone has said. What we’re doing isn’t sustainable, and I’m so pissed that he’s right about that.”

“He’s not. He’s not right. Liam is wrong about all of this.”

“Killian, he’s not. And he probably would have shared even more shitty truths from me if August hadn’t interrupted us to take me home.”

“People are following you while you’re running,” he shouts before lowering his voice. The tips of Killian’s ears have gone red. They always do that when he’s mad. “And touching you while you’re working or living or simply in public. That’s not okay, and how the hell am I supposed to protect you when I don’t have any clue what’s going on?”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Yeah, well, I want to.” He turns to look at her, walking toward her until he’s towering over her, his height suddenly looming instead of comforting. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a fight like this, and the pit in Emma’s stomach tells her that they’re nowhere close to being finished. “The only reason you’re having to put up with any of this shit is because of me, and I hate it. I fucking _hate_ it. I don’t know what to do about you being hunted by the press and by my family. I don’t know what to do about any of this, especially if you’re going to hide away and not share anything with me.”

He’s got to be kidding.

“You didn’t tell me about your dad, so it’s not like you can lecture me on honesty. You also haven’t given me any inclination that you wanted to move in together. That isn’t something we have talked about, and you act like it’s a conversation we’ve had or that I’ve refused to have. I - ”

A sob gets caught in Emma’s throat, sudden and overwhelming, and she turns around to look away from Killian because she can’t look at him. She can’t. It’s all too much for her right now. It’s been too much for weeks, and she doesn’t know how to handle any of this anymore. It’s a spiral, one that keeps going down, down, down…

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” Emma whispers as she stares down at the wood flooring, the stripes and patterns in it suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world as her heart thumps and her stomach flips, nausea overwhelming her at the reality of her words. She’s only thought them in the darkness of the night, and she never thought she’d actually say the words. It was always just a dark thought, never a reality. “I don’t know how to be us anymore when I feel like almost nothing about us is the same.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her stomach heaves again, and Emma reaches forward to curl her fingers around the edge of the countertop, the stone cool to the touch. She’s going to vomit. “Us, Killian,” she sighs. “We’re playing pretend. We’re acting like things are fine when they aren’t. We’re not talking to each other. We’re not addressing our issues. I don’t...I don’t think that there is a solution to our issues. It’s bigger than us.”

“No,” Killian croaks out. “No, no, no.” His arms wrap around her waist, a heavy warmth overwhelming her as his nose nuzzles into her neck. This is usually comforting. Why isn’t it comforting now? “There is a solution. There has to be a solution. We’ll talk. We can actually talk. I will figure something out.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how is that a solution?”

“You have to give me time. I can’t fix everything in the blink of an eye when I barely knew what was going on.”

She stiffens beneath him before straightening her back, gently pushing Killian off of her so that she can move around and get some air to breathe.

Her lungs have this habit of not functioning lately, and she is not at all okay with spontaneously perishing because her lungs have decided to quit doing their job.

Then again, nothing seems to be working like it’s supposed to.

Nothing.

“Emma, my darling, I love you,” Killian says, but she barely hears the words. “I have loved you for a long time, and that is never going to change.”

-/-

-/-

**November 13th, 2013**

“Hey, darling!”

“I am not your darling,” Emma mutters under her breath as she looks over to table four to see who’s calling for her. It’s the guy who has been here for five hours now, an entire table full of beer bottles scattering across his table with his friends.

“You’re a wonder with the patrons, lass,” Will teases her, knocking his hip into hers. “The tips you get really don’t do you justice, especially since tips aren’t the same here as they were for you at home.”

“Shut up.”

“I will when you go serve your table. I can guarantee you that he wants another beer.”

“Wow, how did you get so smart?”

Will winks. “I think I was born that way, _darling_.”

Emma reaches over and slaps him over his use of the pet name that she’s just now truly accepting Killian using for her, before reaching underneath the bar for the beer bottles and placing them on the tray with the bottle opener. They’re going to want them, something she’d know even without Will annoying her, and this way she has to deal with them for the least amount of time as possible.

Maneuvering around the other tables and patrons, Emma walks to the table and places the tray down in front of everyone. “You guys want another round?”

“That would be lovely, puppet,” the bald one says, a creepy as hell grin on his face. Who calls someone puppet unless they’re in the Pirates of Caribbean movies? “Why don’t you just open them for us, and then we’ll be all set.”

Emma fakes a small smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

She quickly pops each of the tops off, and as she leans over to hand a beer to the man sitting on the other side of the table, she feels a firm hand on her ass that has her flinching away and spilling beer all down her sweater.

Her white sweater.

Her priorities are obviously in the right place if that’s what she’s angry with.

“Hey,” she scolds, pulling the guy’s hand off of her ass and backing away from him, “I am your server, not your property. You don’t get to touch my ass.”

“Oh come on, I was just playing with you.”

“I,” she begins, picking up the tray and the spilled beer bottle, “am not someone you play with. Neither is any other woman you come across. Drink your beer, pay your tab, and then get the hell out of here with your sexist bullshit.”

Emma walks away, but she still hears the way they all call her a “slag.” She despises the nights when she’s stuck with men like that, and Emma can practically feel the boiling of her blood and the way that her cheeks are turning red. Damn November weather in London for making her never go outside so that she’s lost what little tan she had.

“Scarlet,” she calls back to the kitchen where Will is talking to her dad, “take care of my tables. I’ve got to go change clothes.”

“What happened?”

“Men are assholes.”

“I’m taking your tips.”

“This is England, and they think I’m a bitch. I’m not getting any tips.”

Will opens his mouth to say something, but she waves him away and turns the corner so that she can go upstairs and change clothes and get the stain out of this sweater. God, she loves this sweater. Of course it got ruined because a man tried to grab her ass, and she jerked away while serving him and his friends. She should have slapped him upside the head with the bottle, but that’d likely get her arrested for assault while he’d get a slap on the wrist and a “good job” for grabbing her.

It’s a really fun place.

“Hey, sweetie,” her mom greets her when she walks through the apartment door. “What are you doing up here?”

She motions to her sweater. “I got a drink spilled on me.”

Mary Margaret frowns before getting up and coming to tug on the bottom hem of Emma’s sweater. “Beer?”

“Yep.”

“Take it off, and I’ll get the stain out for you so that you can get back to work.”

Emma nods her head in thanks before pulling the sweater off over her head and handing it to her mom. She’s still frustrated over what happened downstairs, the urge to go back and slap the guy still there, and she probably takes all of her anger out on the clothes in her closet trying to decide on something to wear. In the end, she grabs a flannel shirt that Killian left last week and buttons it up before tying the bottom around her waist so that it’s not too long for her.

Killian’s been pissing her off today with his lack of communication, so she doesn’t really care if his shirt gets alcohol spilled on it. It’s dispensable. Unlike her damn sweater.

Emma takes a moment to collect herself and breathe before opening the front door of the apartment and heading down the stairs back to the pub. Those men are assholes, most men are assholes, and she’s going to suck it up and finish her shift because she absolutely has to stay occupied and can’t sit upstairs and mope.

(Even if that’s what she wants to do.)

“Swan,” Killian calls out when she turns the corner to the bar, and Emma nearly jumps at the sound of his voice and the sight of him sitting at the bar. He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. Then again, he hasn’t been the best at telling here where he’s going to be, so maybe he was. “Don’t make a man drink alone!”

Her eyes roll, and she turns around to avoid looking at him as she pulls a tray of glasses out. They’re clean, but she needs something to do. “I’m not in the mood for a drink. Or…a man.”

“Love.”

“What?”

“Are you cross with me?”

“No, Killian,” she starts as she furiously rubs at an invisible spot, “I’m not cross with you.”

“Then why are you cleaning that spotless glass?”

“Because it’s my job,” she whisper-shouts. It’s mostly empty in here now, everyone seeming to have left after her little altercation earlier, but a few of the regulars still remain at the back of the room in the booths. “It’s my job to clean glasses and serve alcohol and have shit excuses for men try to grab my ass. So excuse me if I can’t take the time to talk to you. It’s not like you did the same to me today.”

“Emma - ” he hesitantly starts, and she ignores him. She doesn’t want to talk to him today. So, of course, he gets up from the stool and walks around the counter so that she’s forced to look at him and that stupid reassuring smile. “Why don’t we go outside for a minute and talk about this? Will can cover for you for five minutes.”

“I’m busy.”

“No, she’s not,” Will yells out from the kitchen, and Emma makes a mental note to kill Will Scarlet later. “David and I can handle things without her.”

“Fine,” she huffs, slamming the glass down on the table and immediately turning toward the side exit of the pub so that they can go into the more secluded alley that’s out back. Killian follows right behind here, and she has to keep herself from slamming the door behind Killian. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t manage to call you today, darling. Or text you. Or really talk to you this week.” Emma crosses her arms over her chest as small drops of rain fall down from the siding of the building. It’s barely a sprinkle, but everything is damp from the earlier shower. “I got in an argument with my father, and I’ve spent the past few days trying to work out the mess I’ve made. It’s not a bloody excuse, but it’s mine.”

“It takes five seconds to text me,” Emma spits out. “It is not a hard thing, and I know I’m not some kind of example of how to communicate, but dammit Killian, I’ve had a shitty week and didn’t need the extra stress of feeling like you didn’t exist. God,” she huffs, uncrossing her arms so that she can run her hands through her hair, “I love you, but sometimes I swear that you are the most frustrating man on the planet.”

Killian makes some kind of squawking sound that Emma has never heard before, and when she looks away from the sky to actually look at him, he’s staring at her with parted lips and wide eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinks, far more than usual, before reaching forward and tugging on Emma’s arm to pull her forward and into him. All of the sudden, Killian’s lips are pulling on hers, their mouths quickly molding together, and Emma’s eyes close even though she feels like protesting and asking what the hell Killian is doing. But his kiss is deep, lips harshly moving over hers, and she feels pinpricks of desire go all the way down to her toes and curl back up to settle in her heart so that it’s thumping faster than usual.

She can’t be mad at him mostly because her thoughts aren’t exactly her own at the moment.

The kiss doesn’t long, only long enough to take her breath away, and she’s left standing in a slight drizzle with her forehead pressed into Killian’s and her nose squished into his cheek.

_Holy shit_.

“You can’t just kiss me to make me stop being mad at you, you know,” she pants out even as her mind is still focusing on the heat low in her belly.

“That’s not why I kissed you, love.”

“Then why the hell did you?”

Killian chuckles before softly brushing his lips over hers. She chases after him when he pulls away, but he doesn’t let her kiss him again. “Emma, did you mean it when you said that you loved me?”

Emma’s entire body jolts. She moves to pull away, but Killian doesn’t let her. His hands are on her back underneath her shirt, and he tugs her closer so that the undeniable warmth of him washes over her while the November air blows through the small pathway and wraps around the two of them so that Emma can see the white of her breath appearing in the air and mixing in with Killian’s.

Did she tell Killian that she loves him?

Did she...holy shit, she did.

She does.

Love him, that is. She’s known for awhile now, something that has been both exhilarating and terrifying, and she was never going to tell him like this. Not when they’re fighting. Not when she absolutely cannot believe that she’s in love again after everything.

She should be running for the hills. She shouldn’t be still standing here with him.

“Yes,” she finally whispers back, and it’s not as terrifying as she thought it would be to admit, “I do love you.”

Killian chuckles before pressing his nose into her cheek and brushing his lips over hers. “Funny thing, I love you, Emma. Possibly quite a ridiculous amount.”

_Well, that’s a relief._

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, even if I’m apparently shit at communication.”

“We’ll work on it,” Emma giggles, brushing her lips across Killian’s jaw and wishing that she didn’t have to go back to work. “We have some time.”

-/-

-/-

“I love you, too, but that doesn’t change anything about where we are now.”

The words begin chipping away at Emma. The bricks that she’s torn down and carefully removed from the wall around her heart with the help of Killian start to chip away so that she doesn’t have anything protecting her anymore. She always thought that the wall would build back up, that she’d let it keep out any of this pain, not that it’d crumble and she’d be left bare in front of the world with a bleeding heart.

“What are - ” Killian hesitates, and she turns around to look at him so that she can see those damn blue eyes that she loves so much. There goes another brick. “What are you saying?”

Emma swallows the lump, and she honestly cannot believe the words that come out of her mouth. This is all a dream. It has to be a dream.

“I think that we need to take a break.”

She closes her eyes, unable to look at Killian’s reaction to her words. She is such a coward.

Quite possibly the biggest coward on the planet.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“I want to break up, Killian.”

Oh shit. She can’t breathe. There’s no air. She still can’t look at him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Emma continues. “I can’t live a life under this much scrutiny. I am being _crushed_ with no reprieve, and I am never going to live up to the expectations of your world.”

There’s an intake of breath before warm hands are pressed against her cheeks and thumbs are swiping away the tears that she wasn’t aware were falling like some kind of big cliché.

“You,” he begins with a broken voice, “simply you as you are, live up to and exceed everything. I have no expectations of you. None. All I want from you is to be who you are.”

Emma opens her eyes, and all of the sudden she is drowning in a sea of blue desperation and unshed tears.

“I’m drowning. I can’t live like this. I know that you love me and that you don’t...I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live with the scrutiny or the lack of communication, and I am fucking _drowning_. I need space. I need…” She blinks up at him, feeling like the shittiest person in the world. Maybe she is. “We have so many problems that we’re hiding from each other, and I just - I want to take some time off so that I can breathe.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to. I - ” Her voice croaks. “I have been living in my own personal hell for a long time, and I need time to decide if I can live like that forever since I know that’s what you want. I know that you want forever, and I want to give it to you, but I don’t know how to do that right now.”

Killian’s head nods against hers, and then his lips are sliding over hers, salt mixing into the taste of his rum. It’s too much and not enough, just a simple press of mouth against mouth so that Emma can barely feel anything.

It’s likely what she deserves.

How in the world is she supposed to feel knowing that this could be the last kiss she ever shares with Killian and that it tastes of salty tears and regret instead of the love and happiness and unwavering support that she’s felt for five years?

Is she breaking everything beyond repair without bothering to try to fix it first?

Is there anything to fix?

(Of course there is.)

(There’s everything.)

His hand tucks her hair behind her ear, and she has to force herself to swallow again. “If I helped take off the armor around your heart, don’t put it back on just because you’re going to lose me for a little while. Don’t…don’t let what you’ve been through take away your light.”

She doesn’t have words. She doesn’t deserve him. She doesn’t know what to do.

“I’ll try. I just…I’m sorry.”

There’s an intake of breath and a slight, pathetic chuckle. Emma isn’t sure if it comes from her or Killian.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” Killian speaks against her lips, his voice loud enough to hear over her heart shattering.

“Good.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**December 15th, 2013**

“Have we ever been on a date?”

Emma mutes the television, turning her body to face him from her position opposite him on the couch. “Is that not what we’re doing? Dating?”

“Emma,” Killian begins, leaning forward to put his glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. When he relaxes back into the couch cushions, Emma props her feet up on his lap and wiggles her toes. He takes her right foot in his hand and begins to rub at the arch as he continues talking. “What we’re doing right now, watching a movie while spending time together, could technically be considered _dating_ , as that’s what couples do, but it’s not a proper _date_.”

“Sounds like a pretty good date to me.”

Killian chuckles as his thumb keeps working at her foot while Emma readjusts her position. He raises his brows to help make his eyes bigger, smile tugging at one side of his lips that he knows will cause his dimples to show. It’s a tactic he’s used for years when trying to convince people to listen to him or agree with his suggestion. It’s a bit of a dirty move to use his looks, but it works. And he so desperately wants it to work.

He pokes her calf, inching his way up to behind her knee where he’s recently discovered that she’s ticklish, and he’s got her in a fit of giggles, rolling back and forth on her sides as she responds to his ministrations, joyful in the ways that he loves.

“Kil – Killian,” Emma gasps, air not reaching her lungs as she stutters out his name. “Stoooop. I – I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

That’s got his attention, and he stops moving his fingers against her skin. Instead, he leans back, resting his body against the arm of the sofa while still holding onto her ankle.

“Asshole,” she mumbles out.

“So I’ve been told.”

“I would love to go on a so-called ‘real’ date with you even if I’m more than happy with how we’ve been doing things,” Emma admits, soft smile blooming on her face, but when he leans forward to press a kiss against that very smile, she stops him, placing a finger on his lips. “But how exactly do you plan on taking me somewhere when we’re all James Bond incognito? I love you, but I’m not ready to be public.”

“I have my ways,” he teases, finger slipping back into the crease behind her knee, the threat of him tickling her making Emma squirm away so that she’s out of his reach. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He may not be able to take Emma out, not with their current situation, but there’s definitely a way for him to at least spend some time with her without David and Mary Margaret sitting five feet away. He rather likes the Nolans, but things can be awkward when they can hear every word that Killian says.

As he learns, however, it’s difficult to plan a date at Emma’s flat without Emma actually knowing about it, which is why he’s been planning the entire thing to happen on the rooftop of the pub despite the fact that it’s the middle of December and far too cold. It’s also difficult to climb up the fire escape ladder that resides outside of David and Mary Margaret’s bedroom without them noticing him.

Except that David most definitely notices and pops his head out the window with a baseball bat yelling threats at the intruder who just so happens to be Killian.

Fuck.

“I will call the police, and don’t think I won’t bash your head in while we…Killian?” David questions, finally seeing Killian on the ladder with a bag strapped to his back. “What the hell are you doing?”

His breath is labored, the nervousness over thinking his head was about to be bashed in by David still weighing heavily in Killian’s mind as he repositions himself on the ladder. If he could scratch his ear, he would, but he really doesn’t want to risk losing his grip on the rings nearly frozen solid. This was a brilliant plan. Honestly. Bang up job.

“I um, well,” he stutters out, trying not to be too embarrassed over not telling anyone but Mary Margaret his plans. If there’s one thing he knows about Emma’s mother, it’s that she can’t keep a secret from her husband, so he’s genuinely surprised that David didn’t know he’d be out here. He probably should have told David instead of Mary Margaret now that he thinks about it. “I was trying to get to your rooftop to set up for dinner with Emma. Thanks for giving her the night off, by the way. I appreciate that”

David doesn’t even look phased, just crosses his arms over his chest, bat still in hand, dangling there like David may still whack Killian with it. “Do we need to have a discussion about how my daughter is dating a man who’s basically a criminal? I thought I’d already been through that one.”

It’s a bitter joke, and the tone of it reminds Killian that it wasn’t just Emma who’s been affected by the events of her past. It’s not just Emma who has scars etched across her heart that were made by the people who supposedly loved her.

Killian most definitely loves her and is still in slight disbelief that she feels the same way about him.

“I prefer dashing rapscallion if I do say so myself.”

That was definitely cheeky on his part, and the grin Killian’s got plastered on his face to lighten the situation isn’t charming David in the way that it usually charms Emma. Which, in all honesty, is probably for the best because Killian definitely doesn’t want to charm Emma’s father in the same way he does Emma. That would be strange. But he does want David to like him, so it’s not his brightest idea to test the boundaries when he thinks David has finally started to get used to the fact that Killian is with Emma. He was fine with Killian when he was just spending time in the pub, but the moment he caught Killian kissing Emma, he knew that his budding friendship with David would be strained, if not totally thrown out.

Emma claims that David is a fan, but Killian hasn’t seen too much evidence of it.

“I would prefer if you went ahead and climbed in this window so that we could have a discussion about your intention to use my rooftop.”

The tone of David’s voice makes it seem like he wants to talk to Killian about more than just his _intention_ to use the rooftop. And as much as Killian thinks the “if you hurt my daughter” threat is antiquated, he’s been expecting it for months now. Mary Margaret is likely the only thing that’s held David back in having this conversation. Well, that’s not true. He’s sure Emma has told her father not to. She can take care of herself, but it’s nice to have someone who cares about her enough that she doesn’t always have to.

Killian complies with David’s request (see: command) and maneuvers himself through the small bedroom window, having to prop his feet up on the small ledge between the ladder and window pane. It’s not his most coordinated movement, but hours at the gym don’t really prepare you for crawling through windows to talk to your girlfriend’s father. Does anything prepare you for that?

Certainly not any of the etiquette courses he’s been forced to take in his lifetime.

Once he settles himself upright in the room, dropping his backpack onto the hardwood floor, he sees that David has finally relinquished the baseball bat and is sitting in one of the two armchairs in the corner of the bedroom, expectant look on his face as his foot taps away at a furious pace against the hardwood.

“Sorry about all that,” Killian apologizes, brushing off some of the dust and snow that’s collected on his jeans before joining David in a seat in the open armchair. “The clamor outside and the use of your rooftop without your knowledge, I mean. I told Mary Margaret about it, but I guess I was wrong to assume she told you.”

“Oh, she told me.”

Confused, Killian furrows his eyebrows before nodding his head at the discarded bat. “Oh, well why the baseball bat and threat of calling the police? I thought I was about to be pushed to the ground for a moment there.”

“Just because she told me doesn’t mean I was expecting someone to be climbing up our fire escape at nine in the morning when I was getting ready for the day.”

“Eh,” Killian scratches behind his ear. He’s suddenly seven years old and standing in a ballroom at Buckingham having accidentally broken some of the fine china at a dinner party, his father staring at him with his arms crossed over his chest and his lips downturned. “I’m sorry about that. I was trying to get up there without Emma knowing. She doesn’t know what we’re doing tonight. Though, I assume that she thinks we’ll be having dinner in the kitchen and not on the roof.”

David studies him for a minute, and it takes everything in Killian not to shrink into his own skin. Very few people can make Killian feel so small. “So is this what it’s always going to be like for the two of you?” David questions. “Never being able to go out anywhere, always hanging around the pub or the apartment? It doesn’t sound like much of a life if you ask me.”

“It’s not,” Killian admits, guilt at dragging Emma into this lack of a life with him. “It’s not, and I’m sorry for that. But Emma and I have discussed it at length, and she’s willing to try this with me.”

“And you’re willing to try this with her? She’s not just some distraction for you until you get bored and go back to someone more familiar with your lifestyle who isn’t afraid to get photographed?”

The questions sting, and as much as Killian hates it, they’re valid. Despite David having known him for nine months now, he’s known Killian’s public persona as the guy who “loves them and leaves them” for much longer. Killian doesn’t plan on doing that with Emma, though. Well, not the second part. It’s already too late for the first.

“I love her,” Killian confesses, lips tugging upward despite his attempt to keep himself subdued. “She loves me, and I’m not foolish enough to think that solves any of our problems. It likely creates more. Emma means so much to me, and I know that she’s smart enough not to exhaust emotional energy on someone who she doesn’t see a future with. She’s too much of a spitfire not to call me on my shit.”

David doesn’t smile, but he does tilt his head to the side, staring at Killian in a way that makes him fidget in his seat, clothes suddenly two sizes too small. It’s as if Liam or Brennan are sitting in the seat opposite him.

“I’m just,” David begins, voice unexpectedly shaky for a man who has always been solid, “I’m nervous that she’s going to get hurt again. I know you can’t predict the future, so me telling you to never hurt her is pointless in more ways than one. And despite me still trying to hold onto my little girl, I know she’s an adult now, has been for longer than she should have been after she had to grow up far too soon. The two of you are good together. It reminds me of Mary Margaret and I when we were younger actually.” David pauses here, small huff of breath escaping from his lips as he leans forward, elbows pressing into his thighs like he’s recalling a good memory. “It’s just that to us, to Emma, you’re a normal guy, but you’ve got the eyes of the world watching you, a pressure which I’m sure weighs you down more than any of us could ever imagine. What’s going to happen if my Emma is exposed to that?”

It’s the same concern he and Emma have already talked about, only in the simplest of terms, because there’s truly not that much they can do to prepare Emma for what it will be like to be connected to him. If Emma makes the decision that she wants to be with Killian enough to put her life on a platter, they’ll handle the situation as best they can and hope for the best. But no matter the naivety, they’re not at that point yet so the two of them are choosing to live their lives as normally as possible, even if that means having dates on rooftops and conversations with your girlfriend’s father while he holds a baseball bat because he thought Killian was breaking into his home.

“She’ll handle it in the way that Emma always does. A brave face even if she’s terrified. A brave face until she actually becomes brave in the face of adversity. She’s strong. I think she can handle anything.”

That must be a satisfactory answer for David because for the first time during this conversation, he smiles.

“You’re a good man, Killian.” David stands to clap Killian on his shoulder before walking to the bedroom door, hand resting on the brass doorknob. “Watch the third ring from the top. It wobbles if you put the right amount of pressure on it for too long.”

“Thank you, Dave,” Killian smiles. “Do you think I’ll be able to stay over tonight since we’ll be finishing up rather late?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Aye, aye.”

At that, David walks out of the room before poking his head back in with a grimace stretched on his lips. “You can stay. I know that...things have already happened between the two of you, and that you sneak in and out anyways. Just don’t...don’t be obvious about it.”

“I think I can manage that.”

David groans, but he does say anything else, and Killian’s left having absolutely no idea how to feel about anything that’s happening.

“Killian?” Emma mumbles as she walks out of the bathroom at the end of the hall with her toothbrush poking against her cheek to make it protrude. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my parents’ bedroom?”

“Absolutely no reason at all.”

She holds her finger up before turning around and spitting into the sink. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Kind of a last minute lie I’m having to come up with.”

Her eyes narrow. “We’re having dinner on the roof, aren’t we?”

“No, of course not.”

“So I need to put on a lot of clothes for tonight then?”

Killian shrugs, absolutely defeated. “That would likely be smart, though I do prefer the least amount of clothes as possible when I’m with you.”

“I can still hear you,” David shouts from down the hall. “I said not to push it.”

Emma cocks her head to the side. “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” Killian laughs. “Is there any chance you can pretend that you didn’t see me here and that you don’t know what we’re doing tonight?”

“Absolutely not. I want to help set up, especially if you’re going up to the roof. There’s this part of the ladder that - ”

He leans forward and quickly brushes his lips over hers, tasting the mint of her toothpaste. “I know. I’ve been informed, but if you insist, you can come and freeze your ass off on that rooftop with me.”

“It’s a date.”

“Technically not until later.”

“Eh, we’ll make it a whole day thing. Give me five minutes. I’ve got to find my thick socks and probably a bra. And a beanie. I’m not really dressed for the outdoors.”

“Try to be more prepared for my unexpected visits next time.”

“I’ll try.”

Emma comes out of her bedroom five minutes later with her pajamas tucked into a pair of wellies, a puffer jacket pulled around her arms, beanie on her head, and gloves on her hands. It’s a ridiculous mis-match of clothes, and it makes him chuckle before he’s picking his bag of things back up and slinging it over his shoulder before he and Emma make their way out the window and up the ladder to the small rooftop area that’s covered in a thin sheen of ice and snow that can easily be wiped away.

Hopefully.

In reality, it’s more of a mess than anything else, slush and cool air, and both of their noses are red after being outside for an hour blowing away the slush and turning on the space heaters to warm the space. This wasn’t his best idea, but Killian will admit that the view up here is nicer than anything in the flat. The surrounding buildings, homes and businesses alike, are covered in a light white with the lights hanging around corbels and awnings. It’s likely more beautiful at night, with the darkness surrounding everything and the holiday lights all brightening the space. Killian’s always loved the holidays, even if it meant spending an extra amount of time heading up to Sandringham faking fondness for most of his relatives. At least he had Elsa last year, and everyone’s attention was on the newlyweds.

Eventually the rooftop space is livable, at least for a few hours, and even though absolutely nothing has gone to plan today, Killian can feel his cheeks aching from the smile on his face from laughing at Emma trying talking about Will’s unfortunate date last week with a woman who had one too many glasses of tequila and decided that it really wasn’t necessary to wear her shirt in the pub they were eating in.

Maybe getting interrogated by David and then freezing on the roof of the pub for a date is the better alternative than going out and then having to be a part of a police report over public indecency.

“Swan, I have to go get the food, so if you want to go downstairs and warm up while I’m gone, that would be more than fine.”

“Are you subtly telling me to go downstairs and put on some clothes that are not pajamas and rain boots?”

“Absolutely not. If that’s what you want to wear, I’m all for it. It’s only a shame that I didn’t get the pajamas memo.”

Emma winks and wraps her arms around his neck. “I think I have a solution to that.”

In the end, they both end up sitting on the roof in pajamas with their feet tucked into high socks and wellies and with beanies on their heads and jackets wrapped around their arms. They likely look ridiculous, especially with the blankets wrapped over them, but Emma’s got laughter on her lips that is infectious. Her joy is infectious, and if he can make her happy by sitting on a roof in the freezing cold while eating her favorite wood-fired pizza, he’d do it every day for the rest of her life.

It hasn’t been long for them, especially with the two of them being so young, but Killian can’t imagine ever feeling this way about anyone else. He doesn’t think any other woman could get him to do this.

He doesn’t want one to.

David says nothing when Killian walks out of Emma’s bedroom the next morning.

-/-

-/-

**July 31st, 2018.**

Killian’s head is pounding, and his stomach is churning, nausea constantly disappearing only to reappear moments later. The light shining through his bedroom curtains is bloody fucking painful and only makes Killian’s head thrum with more searing pain that spreads over his entire body and then moves back over him in waves.

What the hell is happening?

Why is it light outside when he was sure that it was the middle of the night?

“Get out of bed.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian groans as his temple throbs. He twists in the bed and buries his face in the pillow. The darkness is his friend. In the darkness, he can think of nothing and no one even the obnoxious red-head yelling at him. “What are you doing in my apartment, Ariel?”

There’s a rustle of curtains as she continues to open them, each scrape of metal against the rods killing him, and Killian barely manages to tug the thick comforter up over him.

“You haven’t answered your phone or your emails in three days.”

“I haven’t had it turned on.”

“And why’s that?”

“Fuck off.”

She flicks the ceiling lights on now, and Killian’s eyes burn despite him having them closed and shielding himself away from it all. A blood vessel or something equally as dangerous is going to pop in his damn head, and he has never hated Ariel as much as he hates her right now. He really does wish that she would fuck off. Everyone should fuck off.

“No.” The covers are ripped off him. “Get out of bed. You’ve got an event to go to.”

“Cancel it.”

“You can’t cancel it.”

“Fucking cancel it, A. I’ll do it on another day.”

There’s a slap against the back of his head, and Killian groans before pressing himself further into the mattress.

“You can’t cancel it. It’s the opening of Kidding A Goal. You know? The charity you created? You have to get your ass there. I don’t care that you’re very obviously hungover and smell like you haven’t showered in days.”

Killian buries his face in the pillow again before flopping over and slowly opening his eyes. The light burns, everything blurry and unclear, and Killian’s head has never felt so heavy. Throughout the bleariness, though, he can see the smirk on Ariel’s face.

Fuck.

How did he forget that was today? How could he have let it slip his mind when he’s been creating this project for years? This has been his thing, his actual, good contribution to the world, and he’s fucked it all up by doing nothing more than drinking and sleeping for the last three days.

The love of his life ended things with him, and his entire world was ripped out from underneath him. His mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything other than the absence of Emma in his life.

This is the longest he’s gone without talking to her in five years.

He’s broken. Undeniably and utterly broken like the pathetic bastard he is, and all he wants is to be shrouded in darkness with his mind blurred by the taste of alcohol.

“Can you please,” he mumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes, “stop yelling at me, and get me some coffee, whatever greasy food you can find, and everything in my medicine cabinet?”

The bed moves as Ariel sits down. “Why are you hungover?”

“Had too much to drink.”

“Obviously. Why?”

“Because I did,” he spits out before quickly sitting up. The world is spinning, his stomach even more so, and he is going to have to send Ariel the nicest flower arrangement in existence after this morning. And many, many apologies. “I’m going to...shit, I’m going to shower and try to make sure that I don’t fall apart, so, please, if you love me at all, stop yelling and allow me to stop suffering in unnecessary ways.”

“You still talk more than anyone when you’re hungover.”

He huffs and plasters a fake grin on his face. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Killian isn’t entirely sure how much time passes before he’s in the shower with cold water beating down on him, and he’s not sure how much time passes while he’s in the shower. The haze of alcohol still clings to him, even as he desperately scrubs it away, running soap up and down his body and scrubbing his shampoo through his hair so that every inch of his scalp can be covered. It’s some kind of desperate attempt to magically make himself feel like less of a drunken idiot, but his thoughts clearing is most likely the last thing that he wants.

If his thoughts clear, he can recognize the bottles and products sitting on his shelf that belong to Emma. They smell like her. Almost. There’s something not quite right, something missing, and Killian is sober enough to know that the thing that’s missing is Emma.

The world is screwed up.

His family is screwed up.

_He fucking screwed up._

They’re all screw-ups, and he’s spent the last three days trying to figure out how to fix things and pick up the shattered pieces on the floor to glue them back together.

It’s not going well. Being drunk off his ass as some kind of awful coping mechanism doesn’t help.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Killian should have talked to Emma. He should have asked her how she was. He should have seen past the lies that she was okay and known the truth. He should have told her how things were going with his father.

He should have told her that he didn’t care what Brennan thinks and that he would do whatever it takes to be with her, giving up all of his rights and money and privileges included.

Should have, could have, would have.

None of it matters. He didn’t.

She didn’t either.

The water eventually warms up, and Killian feels some life come back to him. His head is still pounding, his eyes heavy, but not everything feels like death. It’s close, though, and he struggles to put on his suit and tuck in his shirt even though those are simple tasks. He doesn’t bother shaving, his scruff fuller but not untamed, and when he stumbles down into his kitchen, Ariel has got bacon, eggs, and toast sitting on a plate next to a mug of coffee.

She may be the greatest person in existence.

At least until she starts badgering him again about what he got drunk, about why he doesn’t feel like talking. He’s not going to tell her. He can’t. Speaking the words out loud somehow make them real, and they can’t be real.

Eventually, Ariel gives up on pestering him and simply helps him get ready. She musses his hair and puts concealer under his eyes, bringing artificial life back to him before they load up into the car so that he can be driven to the Kidding A Goal facility in Wembley.

It’s stunning.

Killian hasn’t actually seen it in person yet. He’s only seen the blueprints and done a digital tour, but driving up to the physical building causes him to nearly have to choke back a sob. It’s simple enough, just a large rectangular building with tall windows and gray paint, but it’s what’s around it that’s incredible. It’s all state of the art facilities: five tennis courts, a football pitch, a volleyball court, and a running track that weaves in and out of the trees. Inside, Killian knows that there’s a half-sized basketball court inside the large auditorium and several rooms for the weights and kitchen and dining area, and he can’t quite believe that it’s all finished.

His project to make sports accessible to all kids, no matter their income, is here and it’s real.

And he hates himself for focusing on the fact that Emma should be walking inside next to him for the grand opening when he’s supposed to be focusing on all of the kids who are here and are excited for this.

Emma helped him craft this project, has been instrumental in it, and none of this is right.

Absolutely none of it.

“This is amazing, Killian,” Ariel tells him.

“Yeah,” he sighs as he opens the car door, “yeah it is.”

It’s easy for Killian to act as if everything is normal when there are hundreds of eyes on him following his every move. This is something he’s grown used to, even if he hates it, so there’s no issue for him to give his speech and cut an oversized ceremonial ribbon before going around and shaking the hands of donors and high-fiving kids as they excitedly chatter on to him about finally getting to be in a football league or being able to play like the other children in their schools.

The joy on their faces, the comradery and physical activity they’ll get through these programs, is worth all of this. It’s exactly why he did this. He has all of this privilege, and it’s high time that he use it in a way that’s not superficial.

The hours pass, his hangover lessens, and it all goes more than fine until he’s talking to a group of children who are excited about a water balloon toss that is part of the opening day ceremonies that it all truly goes downhill.

“Is your girlfriend here?” a young girl asks him. He’s squatting down to get closer to her, and he nearly loses his balance and topples back into the grass. “My mummy loves her, and she told me to ask you about her.”

“She is not here today,” Killian quickly spits out while his heart pangs, “but I will tell her that your mummy loves her, okay?”

“Do you love her?”

“Of course I do, darling. Very much so.” He forces a smile on his face. The words are true, but they’re still hard to say. “Now, do you think I can be your partner in this water balloon toss?”

She smiles a little toothy grin. “Yeah.”

Killian goes through the rest of the afternoon relatively unscathed with no more questions about Emma, and for maybe an hour, he forgets about everything as his mind focuses on the kids and their happiness. The moment he gets back in the car, however, he crashes into the leather of the seat and leans forward to bury his face in his hands as his throat constricts from the lump stuck there.

How could he have messed this up?

All of this could have been prevented. He just knows it.

His phone dings in his pocket, and Killian pulls it out, opening the email from the unsaved address.

_Good afternoon, Your Highness. If you are still interested in looking at different ring settings for the design you sent us, we are able to accommodate you at your earliest convenience and are able to work with the in-house Royal jeweler. I look forward to working with you soon and have sent our paperwork to your attorney._

_Ashley Boyd._

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“That is undoubtedly your favorite word today,” Ariel laughs as she settles down next to him in the car.

“Fuck,” he repeats while his heart absolutely pounds.

“Killian, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all day. You should be excited. You shouldn’t be muttering curses in the car after we just had a successful opening.”

“I - ”

His stomach heaves, the nausea from this morning coming back even stronger as hot tears sting his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. How in the world does he tell Ariel that he and Emma were on such different pages in where their future was going that they weren’t even reading the same book. He was looking at engagement rings as some kind of desperate attempt to pretend that things were okay while Emma was drowning under the pressure, scrutiny, and his utter lack of good communication.

_Their utter lack of good communication._

Killian let their good days, their good weeks, allow him to forget about the poor ones, and this is where it’s landed him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Killian looks out the car window as they start to move away from the facility and toward the main road that will take them back to Kensington.

“Emma and I...the two of us are on a bit of a break. Saying it that way makes it sound temporary, but I’m not sure if it is. I’m honestly not sure of anything, and I have so stupidly been in a drunken haze for the past few days that I - ”

Ariel’s hand rests on his, her small palm and fingers wrapping around his, and she doesn’t say anything, not at all. She simply squeezes, and that’s more than enough.

“I’d go to the end of the world for her, A,” he breathes out as his eyes close and a tear catches on his eyelashes. “I’d do anything to make her be happy, and I desperately want to fix things. I simply don’t know how. She wants her space. She may want it permanently because everything about being a part of my world is killing her. She can’t handle the scrutiny and the people following her or trying to touch her, and she can’t handle how shitty my family is. I don’t blame her. I can barely handle it either.”

“It’s not going to be forever,” Ariel whispers. “I don’t believe that. She loves you too much. You love her too much, and while I know you want to respect her wishes, you’ve got to work on solutions to fix these problems. You can’t mope and wish that you had done something different. You actually have to _do_ something different.”

“Aye, but what?”

“Confront your dad again. Give him an ultimatum and actually mean it. Deal with the media. Think about what you want out of your life and think about better communication with Emma since you two were obviously not thinking the same things. You have to actively work for your love.” Ariel squeezes his hand, and he finally turns his head to look over at her and her soft smile. “Mostly, though, you have to stop beating yourself up over every little thing. You cannot carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’ll crush you.”

He knows.

It doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

Killian nods his head, but he doesn’t say anything else. He can’t. His mind, even dulled by alcohol, has been running itself in circles until he exhausted himself to the point of not being able to think. Ariel is more than right, as she usually is, but he can’t quite figure out where to begin. That’s always the most difficult part.

Maybe he doesn’t have to start today. Maybe simply not trying to numb the pain today and working on healthier coping mechanisms is how he starts.

Little by little and step by step.

August drops he and Ariel off at his apartment, and Killian dismisses him for the day, telling him to go home for the day and to have a nice night. August protests, as he always does, but Killian doesn’t need any kind of security when he’s sitting at home by himself.

Or, apparently, with Ariel because she follows him inside and tells him to go change into more comfortable clothes. He does, changing into a t-shirt and some joggers before hanging back up his suit and coming downstairs to find Ariel messing around in his kitchen making tea and pulling out the ingredients to make sandwiches. He helps, not wanting Ariel to feel like she has to take care of him. It’s not her job as his PR manager, and it’s certainly not her job as his friend.

It’s what she wants to do. He knows that. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

They talk while they prepare a late lunch, but it’s not much, just simple pleasantries and questions about what Killian wants in his tea and what Ariel wants on her sandwich, and then they settle down in front of the television and sit in comfortable silence while Peaky Blinders plays in front of them, a constant hum of background noise. His head is still pounding, a lingering effect of his hangover, but it gets better as the minutes and hours go by until the sun has set and the day comes to a close.

The next day is much the same, and the day after that. Little by little, things return to a new kind of normal where he doesn’t ache as much as he used to. That’s not saying a lot when most of his thoughts are filled with Emma, when he still wakes up in the morning, and for thirty seconds, Killian believes that things are okay until his arm stretches out on the bed and the sheets next to him are cool to the touch.

When his phone lacks messages from her. The last one he has is her telling him that she can come to dinner with him, Elsa, and his Mum, and he’s looked at it hundreds of times wishing and willing that a new message would pop up.

Or wishing and willing that there was some kind of sign that things had gone so terribly wrong.

And things may get better - he goes to work, goes on his runs, and manages to keep up with all of his responsibilities and most of his friendships - but he does spend an excessive amount of time looking at articles about Emma online. There never seems to be a lack of them, even if most of them are the same information over and over again, and Killian hates himself for utilizing one of the things that broke his relationship in order to feel some kind of connection to Emma.

He hates it.

But it’s also the only way that he knows that she’s okay, at least on the surface. He knows that she’s not okay even without talking to her. The smiles in the pictures are not real.

Or maybe they are. At least for a little while.

It’s a picture of Emma running that affects him most of all. She’s got a cap pulled low over her forehead and her arm over her eyes, and he flashes back to what she said the day that they had their fight. This same thing was happening to her then, and there’s not in end in sight.

Not unless he does something about it.

And in his ashamed scrolling of the articles, he finds one about Emma and Liam and an argument they had in the courtyard of Kensington. It describes nearly exactly what Emma said happened, in the brief moment that they talked about it before everything spiraled, and there’s no way that Liam or Emma would have shared something like that with the press.

Unless Liam is even more of an asshole than Killian’s given him credit for.

The thought is what has Killian getting up from his desk in his office, grabbing his phone and his keys, and walking across the courtyard to Elsa and Liam’s apartment. He bangs on the door hard enough for it to hurt, but even in his rage, he remembers that it’s the middle of the day and that Alex and Elsa could be napping.

If they’re even here.

The front door swings open, and then Liam is standing in front of him with his brows pinched together. “Killian?”

“Are Elsa and Alex here?”

“They’re at a friend’s house for Alex.”

“Good. I’m coming in.”

Liam backs out of the way at the last minute before Killian struts through the door and walks down the hallway before spinning around and staring down Liam.

“What the hell did you say to Emma?”

Liam blinks while the door clicks closed behind him. “Sorry. What are you on about?”

“A few weeks ago, I’ve got no bloody clue when, you confronted Emma in the courtyard before the two of you left. You apparently talked about how she’s not good enough for me and how it won’t last and all of this other utter bullshit, and I need to know why the hell you thought any of that was okay. Because not only is there a fucking article about it, which makes zero sense, but Emma has stopped speaking to me because of the way that you and Dad and all of the other assholes in the world have treated her.”

Liam raises his hands before walking toward Killian, and Killian flinches away when Liam tries to place his hand on his shoulder. “Little brother, calm down. You’re not being reasonable.”

“For God’s sake, Liam, stop calling me your little brother. Did you or did you not tell Emma that she wasn’t good enough for me?”

“I did.”

Killian’s fists clench next to his side while he grinds his teeth together. “And what could have possibly made you think that it was okay for you to do that?”

“Why don’t we go and get some tea while we talk?”

“I don’t want tea. I want some fucking answers.”

Liam sighs but nods his head. “I regret everything that I said. The way I went about it was foolish, and you have every right to be cross with me. I was simply trying to talk to Emma, to help her see the struggles that she’s now going through, but I didn’t do it in the correct way. I did it how Dad would have done it, which I hate.”

“How could you tell her that she wasn’t good enough for me? That we wouldn’t last? After you have seen everything that I have struggled with? How could you?”

“Because I screwed up. I went about that conversation in the wrong way, but I never meant for Emma to leave you because of it. Is that true? When did that happen?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Bloody hell,” Liam sighs as his hand runs over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t...are you alright?”

Killian laughs, something from deep in his belly that is definitely a little maniacal, before twisting on his heels and turning around so that he can pace the hallway, nearly tripping over Alex’s toys.

“No, no I’m not fucking okay,” he growls, his voice cracking. “I have lost my partner. I may never get her back, and all I want is some help from you or Mum or someone. I need to figure out how to fix it. I need to know how to protect her, and I don’t have any idea.”

He blinks, and then Liam is embracing him, strong, unfamiliar arms wrapping around Killian and squeezing so tightly that Killian loses a little bit of his breath. They’ve hugged before, many times actually, but it’s never been in a situation like this.

Killian has never felt like Liam has actually meant it.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispers in his ear. “I’m more sorry than words can express, and you don’t have to forgive me. I wouldn’t expect you to after I’ve done such a piss poor job at being your ally, but I’m trying to be better. I will be better for you and Emma. Our father is a piece of shit for treating you both this way, and I don’t know how we’ll get around him, but we will. I promise.”

Killian huffs and rests his head on Liam’s shoulder. He’s never felt this small. “I didn’t need an ally. I needed - hell, I _need_ a brother. Why haven’t you tried to help me before?”

“Does it matter to you?”

“More than you know.”

Liam sighs and pulls back to place his hands on Killian’s shoulders. “I’m a coward. That’s the truth. I’ve gotten everything that I’ve wanted out of life. I have my wife and my children, and I’ve always been the favored son. I know that, and I’m a bastard for never defending you because stepping out of line was something I was too terrified to do. And it took me meeting Elsa to realize how wrong I’ve been a lot of these years. I’m still learning how to be a bit less of an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Killian chuckles, “You sure as hell are. I think I am too.”

“Good,” Liam smiles before cocking his head toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we go get something to drink and eat? We can hash things out all you want. I’m prepared for the beating.”

Killian swallows and the incessant churning in his stomach settles down. “I think that I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect.” Liam starts walking toward the kitchen, and Killian follows while his mind and his heart try to catch up with everything. He keeps falling behind, and it’s difficult to make sure that he can even comprehend everything…anything. “Wait. Did you say there was an article about Emma and I arguing in the courtyard?”

“I did.”

“And that it had almost exact details of our conversation?”

“Yeah...why?”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest, and Killian’s heartbeat quickens. “No one else could have known about that other than your security, August. And if I recall, he’s the only one who knew about your relationship when it was hidden. Killian, I think your security is the one who is leaking all of this information.”

“No.” Killian shakes his head even though he’s thought this before. “No, he can’t be. I trust him. He’s worked for me for years. He’s...August wouldn’t betray me like that. We’re not the best of mates by any means, but I would think that we respect each other enough for him not to do something like sell private information.”

“You have to look into it. I’m sure that it’s slipped your mind recently, but if you have a trusted employee leaking information, that has to be addressed immediately, no matter how close you feel with the man.”

“I know. I’m simply a lot to take in. This isn’t a small accusation.”

“No,” Liam sighs, “no it’s not. Sit on it for a little while and watch to see if any more articles are released that only August would know about. Now, come on. Let’s go talk for a little while and figure out how you can get your girl back.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're already at this point in the story! Thank you all so, so much for the support and for liking this! It is so sweet to see that ❤️

**September 1st, 2018**

“Scarlet, can you do a grocery run? I think our shipment of flour was off, and we need more.”

“How the hell was our shipment off?”

“Distributor error probably.”

Will walks around the counter and grabs Emma’s laptop out of her hands, clicking on a few things while his brows furrow together and his tongue runs along his bottom lip. “Today is the first of September, correct?”

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t make an order for today, love. It says the last time we made an order was at the end of July. We don’t have one for August.”

“No, that’s not right.” Will holds out her laptop, and she takes it back, eyes scanning back over their order history before she switches over to their bank statements and sees they have a few extra thousand more than usual. “Shit. Why are all of our numbers off?”

“It looks like you didn’t make the order. See, this is why I say we should have some things be automatic because - ”

“Shut up.” Emma holds her hand up in front of Will’s mouth and muffles his voice. “None of this is right? Do you think the computer glitched?”

“I think you glitched, love.”

“What?”

Will leans back against the countertop and arches his brows. “You’ve been a mess for a month. You’re forgetting orders, messing up drinks and food when we’re open, and there are times when you flat out wander off upstairs in the middle of the shift.”

“None of that is true.”

“It’s all true.”

“No.”

“Nolan.” He nods his head at her, and Emma slams her laptop closed and tosses it a little too harshly onto the counter before crossing her arms over her chest. “I know you don’t like talking about it, and I’m not going to ask you to, but you have to admit that you’ve been all kinds of fucked up lately over your breakup. It’d probably be good for you to take a day off instead of constantly putting yourself at the front of the bar for patrons to harass you.”

“We are done with this conversation. Go do the grocery run so that we can serve our customers tonight. You can get the card out of the safe.”

Emma knows that Will is staring at her as she walks away. She also knows that she’s being an asshole, but he kind of deserves it. She woke up this morning actually feeling good for once, like today was going to be some magical day where nothing went wrong, and Will had the audacity to try to tell her that she’s been screwing up and messing things up and needs to take a day off from work. She doesn’t need that. She’s not some sad woman who can’t get over her breakup.

She’s fine.

She’s also very much a liar.

Because Emma has screwed up those orders, even if she didn’t realize it until the numbers were pointed out to her and the lack of produce was right in front of her face...or not in front of her face.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Everyone screws up sometimes, and she is not some savior here to fix everything.

And she definitely doesn’t need to take any time off.

The last time she took time off she ended up watching TV and seeing Killian telling some kid at his Kidding A Goal launch that he loved her, very much so, and the forced smile on his face nearly killed her right then and there. She broke Killian. She did. His world and his family broke her, but she broke him.

And it’s all fucked up.

She’s fucked up.

This has been a month from hell.

A year from hell, really.

“Oh, Emma,” her mom startles when Emma walks past her in the pub, “can you help me clean the floor. It’ll get finished quicker that way and then we can watch a few episodes of the Bake Off so I can get a few dessert ideas.”

“I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Alright, darling. That’s fine.”

Emma scurries away from her mom and quickly turns into the restrooms for the pub instead of going upstairs to their private ones. It’s clean in here, and all she really needs is some time to catch her breath. All of the sudden she isn’t breathing, or maybe she is but the breaths are shallow. Everything is so blurred and numb that she can barely tell.

What the hell is happening?

With a quivering breath, Emma leans forward and curls her fingers around the countertop on the sink, nails scratching against porcelain, and she looks up to see herself reflected in the mirror.

Everything is the same as it always is. Her skin is still pale, if not tanned a bit from spending so much time outside for her runs or up on the rooftop for a little relaxation in the brief moments of the summer sun. Her lips still curve in the same way, her nose is still just as straight with a slight flare at the end, and all of her freckles, the ones she often covers with makeup, are all in exactly the same places, each one making up the constellation that is her face.

But her eyes seem darker, the green not quite as bright despite the water stinging in them, and no amount of concealer can cover the darkness underneath. It covered the red for awhile, in the moments where she sobbed more in the privacy of her bedroom than she’d ever be willing to admit aloud, but the tiredness cannot be covered.

Maybe she’s not doing as well as she convinced herself that she was doing. Obviously Emma continues to be a liar both to others and herself, and she absolutely has to get her crap together before she falls apart at the seams and can’t sew herself back together.

Uncurling her fingers from the sink, Emma leans back and brushes her shirt down before reaching her hands up and gathering her hair from the nape of her neck and twisting it into a bun so that it’s off of her neck and out of her face. It’s better, even if it’s messy, and she feels a little less wild until her vision flashes across a strip of skin above the waistline of her jeans and below where her shirt managed to ride up despite her fixing it.

The ink has long since dried in the near month that it’s been there. It’s now undoubtedly a part of her, and sometimes Emma still believes that it was a dream and not some stupid mistake that she made in the midst of her grief. Is that what it would be called? Grief? It almost seems too serious, too morose, but she doesn’t know how else to describe any of it.

Moping most likely.

No matter how she’s been acting for the last month, no matter how she’s feeling, no matter what she denies she’s feeling, there can be absolutely no debate over the fact that there is a little black mark inked into the skin above her hip bone.

A lightning bolt.

Or, well, almost one. The lines aren’t quite that defined. It’s more an abstract rendering of a lightning bolt, one almost exactly like the scar on Killian’s hip.

She couldn’t remember the exact lines or angles or slight curves despite how often she traced the scar, both with her fingers and her tongue, but she thinks she got it right. The more she stares at it, however, the more wrong it looks. It’s not that it was drawn the wrong way or that it isn’t similar to his. It’s more that it looks wrong on her hip, on the porcelain skin that’s clear of hair and a tan and whose muscles look entirely different.

The mark isn’t on Killian’s hip, the place she’s seen it for five years, and it’s wrong.

Emma shouldn’t have gotten the damn tattoo. It was a mistake, and at some point, she’s going to have to get it removed. It’s nothing more than the smallest of lines that no one but her would notice, and yet it’s screaming at her like a bright flashing light in the darkest of nights.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispers to herself before tugging her shirt back down and covering the mark.

If she doesn’t see it, it’s not there. That’s sound logic, she thinks. If she doesn’t see it, she doesn’t remember the night she got it. There was no seeing Killian on TV and having to watch him tell that kid that he loved Emma, no seeing the falseness of his smile, and no remembering that she’d left the apartment in the middle of the night, gone and gotten a tattoo completely sober, and then had come home and failed to go to sleep before the sun rose.

Parts of her life feel like a dream, like they didn’t really happen, but the ink is a reminder that this part of her life and the five years before it are all very much real.

She’s in love with a man who she doesn’t know how to be with in a world that seems to hate her, and all she wants is to run the distance from the pub to Killian’s apartment, pray that the guards are still allowed to let her in, and tell him that she’s not sure how much longer she can handle this on her own. Handling it together was hard enough. This is impossible.

But Killian probably hates her now. She broke his heart and left him to deal with the clean-up, and Emma has absolutely no idea where his mind is, what he wants, and she shouldn’t have been too stubborn to text him. He should have not respected her space and texted her.

Or called. She thinks she could have handled that.

A mess. An actual, certifiable mess. That’s what all of this is.

Emma takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself down. Her heart is beating madly, her face red, but she’s got to calm down and go back outside to get to work and keep herself from falling down a rabbit hole.

She can do this. She has to.

With one more shuddering breath, she walks outside of the bathroom only to find her dad now helping her mom clean the floors. They’re almost finished, which means Emma was hiding out in the bathroom for far longer than she thought she was, especially because her parents keep splashing each other with water and snapping rags at each other like they’re not two grown ass adults who know that’s gross.

But they’re happy. Emma can see the joy written on her parents’ faces in the lines they’ve garnered over the years. They’re happy, and Emma loves that for them. For all the shit in her life, they’ve been this constant good presence, even when she was dumb enough to hate them, and seeing the way they’ve committed to each other has always been something she’s idolized, even if she knows everything isn’t perfect behind closed doors.

Knowing that has probably helped, actually.

She never thought she’d have that...then she did.

And now she doesn’t.

-/-

-/-

**December 31st, 2017**

“Emma, darling, why in the world are you painting your toenails when there’s no reason for you to even show your toes? It’s December. You’re always bundled up in socks and boots.”

Emma ignores Killian in favor of swiping the plum colored polish on her nail, making sure none of it gets onto her skin or the rug beneath her feet. “Believe it or not, sometimes I do put effort into my appearance, even if it is something that no one but us will see. That’s why I still shave on occasion despite the fact that I think my leg hair would keep me warm.”

“You don’t have to shave for me.”

“I like to keep the spark alive. Wouldn’t want us to hit that four-and-a-half-year slump.”

Killian chuckles. “Oh, well, should I shave for that? If it keeps the spark alive, that is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Emma’s head pops up quickly to see Killian barely containing his smile. “No,” she says sternly, wagging the brush in the air, “don’t you dare. That joke is literally never funny.”

“I think it is.”

“Yeah, but you and my dad both have that complex of thinking that you’re funny when you’re not.”

Killian huffs, and her bed creaks as he gets up and walks over to her, bending down to brush his lips over her forehead. “Whatever you say. Do you think your parents will want breakfast this morning?”

“They most definitely will. Probably a big one since they’re doing us a big favor by letting me have the night off on one of our busiest nights of the year.”

“What else would two middle-aged adults like to do on New Years Eve than work in a crowded pub? That’s obviously the dream.”

“Obviously. I’ll come and join you in a minute. Can you make those sausage and cheese balls? The ones in my grandmother’s recipe book?”

“Aye, Swan, I know just the one.”

Killian leaves Emma as she continues to paint her nails. It doesn’t take long, especially since she’s not particular, and as soon as they’re dry enough for her to walk around, she stands up and grabs a brush to smooth out the tangles in her hair before pulling it up in a messy bun. They won’t get dressed today. She’ll stay in her comically oversized sweater and reindeer pajama pants, and Killian will stay in the plaid Christmas pajamas she bought him. They don’t get to do Christmas together, never have, so they’ve taken to celebrating on New Years Eve. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but if there’s anything Emma has learned over the years, it’s that she has to be flexible in how she and Killian live their lives. There are a lot of moving factors.

But not today. Today they get to lounge around, eat, drink, and do nothing.

In her opinion, it’s how every major holiday should be celebrated.

When she makes it out to the kitchen, Killian is sitting down at the table while her mom is the one in the kitchen rolling the dough and placing it on the pan. Emma doesn’t even have to ask to know that Mary Margaret likely shooed Killian away and insisted that she be the one to cook, so she doesn’t. Instead she walks over to Killian and slides into his lap, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and pressing her lips into his chilled cheek while his arm curves around her waist.

“Your mum claimed I was doing the balls an injustice.”

“If you call them ‘balls’ that sounds far dirtier then it actually is.”

“Only if your mind is in the gutter like yours is, my love.”

“He didn’t have the sausage to cheese ratio correct,” Mary Margaret adds in turning to the two of them while pointedly pouring in a little extra shredded cheese. “It’s a delicate science.”

“It’s not,” Emma whispers to Killian as her mom goes back to cooking. “Mom is ridiculous.”

“I’ve already been kicked out of the kitchen. I dare not say anything else to anger her.”

“Probably for the best.”

Killian offers to help once more, but it’s all in vain as Mary Margaret is the one who makes breakfast as well as coffee, making it to everyone’s specifications. David comes into the room just as the food is ready, grabbing a sausage ball off the tray so that her mom slaps his hand away, and the two of them laugh together as they eat, whispering words that Emma can’t hear from where she’s now sitting on the couch in the living room.

Her parents are special. Emma knows that. She’s seen a lot of their ups and downs, the good and horrible times, but they’ve always come back to being them. It’s refreshing to see that relationships can work out and stay good. That’s not something she ever thought she’d have for herself, especially after the pretty shitty start that she got, but right now looking at the man sitting across from her with bed head and an unshaven face, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’s going to get some kind of cliched happily ever after even though happily ever afters are really where the fun begins.

And sometimes the mess too.

Emma’s parents leave the apartment around noon to start prepping the pub for opening, and even though it’s a rare opportunity for she and Killian to have the place to themselves, they don’t take advantage of it in the ways they usually would. Instead they argue over what show to binge on Netflix while stuffing their faces with food. Killian makes an extra batch, his taste exactly the same as her mom’s, something she can never say for fear of being ostracized from the people she loves, and Emma’s stomach is full of more food than it should be.

Obviously she’s prepping for the possibility of getting drunk later.

But she doesn’t.

Neither of them do.

They do each have a glass of wine or two (who’s counting?), but it’s not the kind of New Year’s Eve celebration she’d be having if she were out celebrating with Ruby and Ruby’s friends. It’s calm and perfect and there’s something so special about simply being able to sit and relax when she’s been away from Killian for most of the month. The winter is always hard with his schedule, and the brightness of the holidays diminishes...but only the slightest bit.

“Should we take the Christmas lights down, love?” Killian questions as the clock strikes near midnight, the sunshine long since gone with the night taking over and enveloping them.

“No, we can leave them up until at least mid-way through January. It’s still Christmas for us technically.”

“A melding of holidays then.”

“Exactly.” Emma looks back down at her phone to check Ruby’s text, but she looks up when there’s a nudge at her knee. Killian’s holding his hand out toward her, a wry smile on his lips. “What?”

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeats, nudging his hand forward. “C’mon. It’s late, we’ve barely moved today, and I don’t believe you have anything else to do right now.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

He winks. “I’ve got an inkling that you may fancy me, so I decided there would be no harm in asking.”

Emma reaches forward to place her palm in Killian’s, and he tugs her up until she’s on her feet and wrapping her arms around his neck while his hands rest warmly against her waist, a steady beacon to keep guiding her. She knows that Killian is trained in formal dances, that he can move more gracefully than this, but right now it’s simply a back and forth sway, their feet barely moving and their bodies even less so. It can barely be called dancing, but she doesn’t care.

This is their night. They can make the rules.

“Sometimes I think about the night I met you,” Killian begins, whiskers brushing against her cheek and breath hot on her ear. “I shouldn’t have. In no scenario should I have ever met you, and yet I did. I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t. It feels like I’ve known you for a lifetime.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good. Most definitely good.” Killian turns them, his feet nearly tripping over the rug until he shifts them. “It’s been a fast lifetime, almost as if I just met you as that angry girl yelling at me to move my ass.”

“I was not angry.”

“You were. It was adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Never,” he whispers. “I like annoying you too much. The face you make when I tell you a naughty joke in front of your parents is priceless.”

Emma chuckles and pulls on a bit of his hair. “You do enjoy that a little too much.”

“What can I say? I like a good naughty joke.”

There’s a sound behind them, a countdown of the clock as the year comes to a close, but neither of them pay attention to it until they can hear the explosion of fireworks outside and on the television. Killian’s lips press into hers, warm and sweet, and she can taste his smile.

“Happy New Year, Emma.”

“Happy New Year, Killian.”

She’s not one to believe in the magic of a new year. It’s simply a day changing, the calendar flipping over, several months of writing the wrong year on papers, but maybe this year will bring a little bit more magic into her life.

Or maybe it will suck.

Who knows? That’s half the fun.

-/-

-/-

“I think I’m going to take the day off,” Emma blurts at the exact moment that her dad dips his head to kiss her mom’s cheek. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

David cocks his head. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’s fine. Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” Emma lies. “Everything is fine. I think I’ve just been so busy that I need a break. I might go for another jog or go shopping or something.”

“It’s raining. Supposed to all day.”

Shit. She forgot about that. How could she forget? This is fucking London. It’s always raining even, when it isn’t. “You know, the shops are mostly inside, and I think I’ll call Ruby and see if she can play hooky today too. It’s been awhile since we were able to go shopping.”

Her parents are studying her, and she knows that they see right through her. She does. But this was a last-minute decision, a last-minute lie, but it’s actually starting to sound like a good idea.

“Aren’t you worried the photographers will follow you? Shopping is a pretty public thing.”

Emma waves her mom away. “Sometimes I can slip away without them noticing, you know. And I need to get out during daylight hours for something other than exercise. I just...please let me do this.”

“Whatever you want,” Mary Margaret says with a soft, sympathetic smile. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always.”

Ruby ends up being able to take the rest of her afternoon off. Granny doesn’t need her and is more than willing to let she and Emma have some time together, and Ruby picks Emma up at the pub before driving off to some of their favorite shops. Miraculously, the usual photographers that camp outside of the pub weren’t there today, likely off on a lunch break before returning to stalk Emma as they do in the evenings, so they’re able to slip away without much notice. That doesn’t mean that Emma isn’t constantly looking over her shoulder to see if someone new has spotted her, but it does help to ease the paranoia the slightest bit.

Someone’s always watching, and that’s difficult to forget.

She wants to forget.

“What do we think of this?” Ruby asks her as she steps out of the small dressing room to show Emma the dark maroon dress that she’s trying on. “Is it too tight?”

“Rubes, I don’t think you’ve ever met an article of clothing that’s too tight.”

“I don’t do tight knickers,” Ruby teases. “That is the one thing.” She does a little twirl and runs her hands over the sides. “So, what do you think?”

Emma’s eyes glance up and down to look at the dress. It’s pretty, and more importantly, Ruby looks great in it. Then again, Ruby is one of those people that looks great in everything. It’s really unfair.

“I love it,” Emma sighs out as her fingers flick across a rack of other similar dresses. “Where would you wear it?”

“I have a date.”

“A date that’s good enough for you to have to buy a new dress when you already own a million and two dresses?”

“Mhm.”

Emma stops looking at a plaid-patterned dress to turn around and look at Ruby and the obnoxious smile on her face.

The obnoxious smile that Ruby only wears when she really likes a guy.

Holy shit.

“You met someone,” Emma gasps out before walking closer to Ruby so that all of the shop employees don’t hear her. “And you like him. You like him enough to get a new dress for what I’m assuming isn’t a first date.”

“Maybe,” Ruby teases, her brows waggling, “or maybe I simply want to impress on the first date.” She moves back into the dressing room, pulling the door closed, and Emma hears the dress unzip. “His name is Graham Humbert. He’s in private security, which is far hotter than it has any right to be, and this is our third date.”

“Curly brown hair? Kind of scruffy?”

Ruby pops up over the height of the door. “I know I have a type, but how the hell do you know that?”

“Graham Humbert is one of Killian’s university friends who I think was on the short list to be security for Killian at one point.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck. Are they close?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders. “Not as much as they used to be, but I have heard a story or two about Graham. He’s a nice guy.”

“Who didn’t tell me that he went to school with Killian.”

“Probably because women usually use him knowing Killian to their advantage.”

There’s another rustle of clothing, and then the door is opening with Ruby stepping outside in a plaid dress that looks like it was taken off of her grandmother’s wall. “True. I won’t hold that against him. Does this suck?”

“It’s pretty bad.”

For all the shopping that Emma actually wanted to do for herself to get in a little retail therapy, she ends up spending the next three hours helping Ruby find a few new outfits. Emma only buys two new cowl neck sweaters that are on clearance, but she knows that she’ll definitely wear them once autumn comes around. It’s a nice day, even if Emma’s mind is still a little cloudy and she’s throwing herself a pity party, and when Ruby asks if she wants to come back to her place for dinner, Emma is almost relieved that she can sit down and get out of public for a little while.

There were photographers outside of the last shop, a hoard of them asking Emma if she was still with Killian, and she nearly lost her breakfast at that question and the thought that someone outside of her circle would know.

They couldn’t know. They wouldn’t. It’s simply gossip because she hasn’t been pictured going to his apartment lately.

Gossip that is still killing her hours later as she sips on a glass of red wine and eats Granny’s lasagna.

Bless Granny for this lasagna and everything else she makes.

“So,” Ruby starts while flipping through the television channel, “are you finally going to talk about the fact that you’ve just gone through a breakup, and yet you’ve been acting like you were fine for the past month?”

Emma takes a large sip of the wine. She’s going to need another glass. “Do I have to?”

Ruby’s eyes roll. “I mean, I know that’s why you asked me to take off work today, darling. You don’t do shit like that, and I figured you were finally ready to tell me more than the simple text that said, and I quote ‘Killian and I broke up. I don’t want to talk about it.’ And then you didn’t bring him up for a month.”

“That is not true. I’ve talked about him.”

“Not to me. To your dad, yes. He’s the only person you’ve confided in, and it’s because he found you sitting on the kitchen floor eating marshmallows like they were candy.”

Another gulp. “How do you know that?”

“David and I are tight. You know this. He’s always flattered that I say he’s a hot dad.”

“Gross, no,” Emma grumbles. She pulls her legs up in her chair. “I always hate when you say that. It reminds me of being in high school and the girls in my class rated my dad as an eight.”

Ruby gasps, covering her heart with her hand. “How dare they. David Nolan is a solid ten.”

She groans again and sinks down into the chair, wondering if it’s acceptable for her to simply drink the entire bottle of wine. “Can we change the subject?”

“Sure. Tell me what’s going on with you and Prince Charming?”

“Killian would die if he knew that you called him that.”

“Well, depending on how we feel about Killian, that could either be a good or bad thing.”

Emma huffs and swishes the wine in her glass before taking the last sip of it and placing the glass on the end table next to what has to be Ruby’s entire jewelry collection. “We still like Killian, and I definitely don’t want him to die in a fiery car crash or something like that.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I have my moments.” Ruby softly smiles, and Emma tries to focus on that and the pounding rain instead of the pounding of her heart. “I ended things with him,” she blurts out. Ruby doesn’t even flinch. “It was too much for me. I couldn’t deal with the media and the constant attacks. I couldn’t deal with his family and the prospect that dealing with them was going to be something I had to do for the rest of my life. I didn’t know how to deal with it or talk about it or exist in Killian’s world, and I was suffocating, Rubes. There were days, weeks even, where I was happy but then....”

“Something shitty would happen and you’d have the rug pulled out from under you.”

“Exactly,” she sighs. “Killian and I weren’t communicating well. We didn’t - I didn’t know how to tell him that my heart was constantly breaking. I wanted to be strong for him, to show that I could do it all because I love him, and I wanted to do everything to keep him from telling his dad that he would renounce all of his rights.”

“Fuck,” Ruby mutters as thunder rolls and lightning flashes in the darkness of the night. “He was going to renounce his rights?”

“Yep. Brennan hates me. I thought...I thought that things were getting better because Killian hadn’t mentioned anything, but they weren’t. It was worse. I’m never - I’m never going to live up to this expectation they have of Killian’s partner, and I can’t let Killian break his mom's heart by leaving and pretty much being banned from everything. He wouldn’t even be able to go to her birthday parties without special permission, which his dad wouldn’t give. That wouldn’t...shit, it’s just so much.”

“First of all, Brennan is a fucking asshole and doesn’t deserve for the country to love him. I hate that his face is on my money. And you are incredible in every damn way, and if he can’t see that or how incredible his son is, that’s his loss. And all of the people who are harassing you and following you around? They can shove a stick up their asses. And Neal Cassidy? He and Brennan can do the same with the painful object of your choice.”

Emma throws her head back and barks out a laugh. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” Ruby winks and blows her a kiss. “I also know that you love Killian so much that you were with him for half a decade and willing to try to live in his insane universe, and while it didn’t work out for a little while, I think it still can.”

“Why? I mean, you barely saw us together. We...I screwed up by not telling you in all of those years, and then you only saw Killian a few times and I - ”

“Emma,” Ruby starts, getting up from her chair and walking over to her. She squats down and takes Emma’s hands in hers, squeezing the slightest bit. “I know that it’s not really simple, that it’s actually insane, but it all boils down to this: do you want to be with Killian or do you want to move on from him?”

“Be with him.”

A wolfish grin crosses Ruby’s face. “Good. Now get out of your pity party, tell the man that you need to talk, make a plan for fixing your issues, and then have an absolutely fantastic make-up shag.”

“How are you insightful and gross all at once?”

“If your sex is gross, that’s not on me. That’s on you.”

Emma reaches forward to slap Ruby’s shoulder, but she doesn’t get the chance to as Ruby gets up and stumbles away saying that they need more wine and that she wants to watch some romantic comedy that she saw advertised a few days ago. Emma’s not particularly in the mood to watch two people fall in love, especially when her own mind is spinning with thoughts of next steps and fallbacks and everything in between, but she watches with Ruby, the two of them laughing over cheesy lines and pointing out all of the flaws before both becoming actually enraptured with the entire thing.

It’s odd to watch something like this, to see a quick-fire version of two people falling in love. She watches them all the time, especially since her mom is such a fan, but Emma’s always been in a relationship while watching it. She’s known what falling and being in love was like.

She still does.

And it’s never been her plan. She’s never been the type of girl to think that she’ll be married by twenty-eight and have two kids by thirty-four and have this entire life planned out. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s never been her. She always thought, especially after Neal, that she’d never have some great love who she actually wanted to spend her life with.

Yet, life happens unexpectedly and all at once, and ironically enough, it’s when you’re trying to slow it down and make the whirlwind stop. Good things can come from unexpected places, and holding onto that goodness and cherishing them makes life worth all of the ups, downs, and everything in between.

Killian Jones in all of his many titles and names came to her in the dark of the night, with rain tapping against the windows and coating the ground on a night just like this, and she’s done pushing him away. She’s terrified, her heart very literally tightening in her chest, but she wants him back in her life.

He is her three in the morning person. If she needs something in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is asleep, she can call him. He’ll be there in an instant, smile on his face and heart open and willing to help with whatever she needs. He’ll always be there.

But that’s the thing. Emma doesn’t want to have to call Killian at three in the morning when she’s closing down the pub. She wants him to be there by her side. She wants to be by his side.

She wants him, lightning bolt scars and all.

It’s funny how you make all of these big plans, end up somewhere completely different, and yet all of those right and wrong choices can lead you back to where you need to be.

“Hey, Rubes,” Emma begins while twisting the sapphire ring that hasn’t once left her finger. “I think I might go home.”

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No, we’ve had too much wine. I’ll call a cab, okay?” She gets up and walks across the room to embrace Ruby. “Thank you for everything today. Call me after your date tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you from the bathroom in his flat.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Emma calls for a car, and as soon as it arrives, she darts out into the rain without looking around and slides inside, hoping to have only gotten slightly soaked. She tells the driver her home address and watches as he stares at her, probably recognizing her, before she pulls her seatbelt across her chest, and closes her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Her heart is beating so loudly that she can feel it over every inch of her skin and deep in her belly.

“You can do this,” she whispers to herself, hoping that her driver can’t hear her over the rain and over the music. “It’s just Killian.”

Be brave.

Be brave.

_Be brave._

Slowly, she pulls out her phone and scrolls down to the last text she sent Killian before typing up a new one.

**Emma:** I know it’s been forever. Thirty-five days, which isn’t actually forever. You may hate me now. I’m really not sure how you feel, and that’s killing me. I used to always know how you were feeling because we’d talk about it or I could tell from the look on your face. I miss your face. And you. I miss you so damn much that I freak out every time I so much as see someone with blue eyes. Anyways, I think I’m ready to talk. Living without you has been impossible, but I think it’s what I needed to realize that I’m ready to make sacrifices so we can be together. I love you. I promise that I never stopped.

She stares down at the message, reading the words over again while her thumb hovers over the “send” arrow, and she sucks in a deep breath before pressing her thumb down and closing her eyes, hoping that it’s not a mistake to send that message.

Being apart isn’t what she wants anymore, but she might have done irreconcilable damage along the way. That scares her most of all.

The same thoughts she’s been ruminating on for days run through her mind. What if she’s ready and Killian isn’t? He’s got his own demons that battle hers, but he’s always been better and pushing them back and holding them off. She hurt him, they hurt each other really, and if they’re going to work, they’ve got to get back to fighting on the same side.

That’s always been where they were strongest.

Emma looks up from her phone to the front seat of her taxi. The rain gets heavier, the roads barely visible, and she most likely should have stayed at Ruby’s tonight instead of coming home. But in a few more minutes, she’ll be in her own bed, and that’s really all that she wants after tonight.

Water splashes under tires and against the windows, and all of the lights around them are blurred while the windshield wipers move back and forth to flick away the rain. The sounds of the city are barely audible over the storm, thunder rolling in and breaking through the monotony of the rain.

All of the sudden there’s a screech getting louder and a bright light becoming clearer, and Emma realizes what’s happening right before it does. It only gives her enough time to close her eyes once more, tighten her fingers around the leather of the seat, and pray that everything is going to be okay as her taxi spins round and round in circles until there’s a crunch of metal and searing pain.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**September 1st, 2018**

Rain pours down outside, water droplets sticking to the windows, and Killian quickly grabs his coat and an umbrella before walking out the door of his apartment so that the chill of cold water hits him and splashes onto his shoes. He should have changed into his wellies, but that seemed unnecessary for the short walk over to Liam’s. He and Elsa invited Killian over to spend the day with them since none of them have any engagements or functions today, and they’re all trying to mend the broken fences, building them up one by one and day by day. It’s been more than difficult, something akin to spending every day at the dentist, but the hostility is lessening.

His father may be an entirely different story, but with everything that’s been happening, Killian can’t deal with Brennan right now. If he has to see him, he’ll lose his mind.

So he’s sticking with Liam and working on their relationship while Liam, Elsa, and Ariel help him figure out ways to make his life easier for Emma. It’s going slowly with a mess of rejected ideas and a handful of things that may actually work, but it’s something more than he had.

It’s better than wishing and hoping for the best when that hasn’t gotten him a lot of places in the past. Hope is great, but action is necessary too.

Though, his entire heart is filled with some kind of desperate hope that Emma still loves him and that this month of separation won’t last too much longer. It’s been hell not being able to talk to her, to see her, to embrace her. The only hints he has to how she’s doing have come from Will Scarlet who will still occasionally text him but almost never include anything about Emma. They’ve been reluctant mates for five years, but a part of Killian thought that when things ended with he and Emma, Will would no longer speak to him.

But it’s not like Emma to tell others to cut him off, especially under their circumstances. Then again, Killian thought that he and Emma would talk on occasion too, that there would be some communication.

There hasn’t been any.

He’s so desperate that a text would change his entire world.

Killian could text her, but would that be too much? Would that be what she wants? How can he know?

Suddenly, Killian realizes that he’s standing in front of Liam’s door, that he somehow managed to walk across the courtyard while lost in his own thoughts. Damn. He’s got to stop doing things like that. It’s been a consistent pattern lately. He’ll be in his living room vacuuming and end up in his bedroom folding clothes.

He doesn’t bother knocking, instead stepping inside and taking off his trainers in the entryway before following the sound of conversation and laughter to find Elsa, Liam, and Alex in their family room. At least, he believes they’re in the room. He can’t actually see them through the sheets and blankets that have been strategically tied around chair posts and the couch with a large opening facing the television.

A smile stretches across Killian’s face while all of his lingering sadness fades away when he steps a little further into the room and ducks his head under the opening, pretending to knock on the sheets while he coughs to announce his presence.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain Alexander?” he asks, and three heads quickly turn toward him.

“Killy,” Alex squeals, and Killian can’t even be annoyed by the nickname that Alex will never get rid of. It’s fine. It’s adorable actually. “We build fort.”

“I see that, lad. It’s beautiful. Did you build it all by yourself?”

“It’s soft,” he says in response before going back to the board that he’s playing with, sticking the star into its mold and smiling to himself at how it perfectly fits in.

Brilliant.

“I’ll give you permission to come in,” Elsa smiles, patting the spot next to her. Killian obliges, dropping down to the floor and inching his way to sit next to her. He leans over and kisses her cheek in greeting before situating himself more comfortably. “How has your morning been?”

“Wet and a bit gloomy. I worked out for a long time this morning to try to wake myself up and get out of a bit of a funk, and I think it worked...mostly.” He chuckles and reaches to scratch behind his ear. “But I don’t want to focus on any of that. I’ve come to hang out with all of you in this makeshift fort of sorts.”

“It was all Liam’s idea.”

“Was it indeed?”

“What?” Liam laughs while he hands Alex the circle piece of his toy. “I can come up with good ideas to entertain my son. I’m not as boring as you think I am.”

“There are so many things I could say right now, but I think I’ll hold back so as not to let your lad realize that his father is a bit boring.”

Liam nonchalantly holds his hand up behind Alex’s head and raises his pointer and middle fingers, which Killian quickly slaps away. He’s a wanker, but he does it all in jest. At least, now. Possibly. Killian isn’t entirely sure. This is still something he’s having to learn and adjust to knowing.

“I’m not sure if I like the two of you being friends,” Elsa sighs, relaxing back onto a pillow and placing her hand over her ever-growing stomach. “I feel like we’ll be getting into too much trouble.”

“I thought this is what you wanted, love.”

“I thought that, too, but now that I’m seeing it in action…”

“She’s happy,” Liam explains. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s been hoping that I could get my head out of my ass for years, and I - ”

“Ass,” Alex repeats back to them, and Killian nearly chokes on air as he struggles to keep back a laugh. “Daddy is an ass.”

“You know,” Killian teases, “I think I agree with you, kid. You’re smarter than people give you credit for. Now, show me where that circle block goes. I think I might need a little help.”

The hours begin to pass by with all of them crammed into the small space inside of the makeshift fort, and it fills Killian with more calm than he’s felt in weeks. There’s no hostility, no reminders of his past and the shitty mess of his present, and Killian has to keep himself from wondering if this is what life would have always been like had he and Liam been brought up differently. There’s no point in living like that. He’s trying to learn that.

Liam makes them all a late lunch, simple sandwiches and crisps that they hoard together while watching one of Alex’s movies, and as the sun begins to set some time later, Killian is about as ready to go to sleep as Alex is. Liam takes him upstairs, telling Elsa that he’ll take care of all of their bedtime routines, and Elsa gives him a thankful smile before falling back on the cushions and tugging a blanket up over her while Killian shifts his position. His entire body is going to ache after sitting down here for most of the day despite a brief interlude of chasing Alex back and forth through the hallways.

He is too old for this.

That is not something he should be saying two weeks shy of twenty-nine.

“Have you heard from Emma lately?”

Killian’s heart leaps, and he inhales before twisting his head to look over at else. “No.”

She frowns and reaches over to grab his hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“It’s fine.”

“I know that it’s not. You’re heartbroken. It’s okay to feel that way. I mean, hell, Killian. I would be distraught. I would be laid out on the floor not having showered and having eaten far too many sweets so that I couldn’t fit into my clothes anymore.”

“You are currently on the floor not fitting into your clothes.”

Elsa scoffs, releasing his hand to slap his arm. “I am pregnant, you wanker.”

“Still. You pretty much described yourself while talking about how pathetic I should be.”

“You are not pathetic,” she insists, and Killian knows she’s simply telling the truth. She’s been steady by his side for this entire thing, for more than this too. She and his mum have given him so much hope when he had none. “All I’m saying is that it’s okay to still be distraught. You were with Emma for five years. All of those feelings don’t go away in a month, especially since I know you are holding the torch for her so close to your heart.”

“I want her back, Els.” Another inhale, but his heart is still beating so quickly that his cheeks have heated. “I’m working so damn hard to try to figure out how to make this easier on her and to make us a possibility. I just...what if she doesn’t want to try again? We haven’t spoken, and I think it’s slowly killing me.”

Her eyes crinkle, and he watches as Elsa moves her hands over her raised stomach, running them back and forth over her. “You know Emma much better than I do, so you’re the one who understands how she works. I think you’ll be fine, but you may have to stop trying to be a gentleman giving her space and tentatively hand over an olive branch.”

“But what if - ”

“Killian, you are a kind soul who I have also seen rip apart anyone who threatens someone you love. There are so many facets to you, and I know that one of those is that you are respectful of Emma’s feelings. But you also have to be respectful of your own. You’re not going to be encroaching on her if you simply reach out and ask if she’s ready to talk. She either says yes or no, and then you get to move on from there. The woman loves you, no matter what is happening right now.”

“I sometimes hate that you were studying to be a psychologist at some point because then you say shit like that, and I know I should listen to it.”

“You should listen to it no matter what because you love me.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles while his stomach flips, “I do.”

Killian excuses himself when Liam comes back downstairs after putting Alex to sleep. They ask him if he wants to stay for dinner, and as much as he should, Killian also wants to be alone so that he can have a little time to think. His mind keeps running over words, different phrases and combinations of things he’d like to say to Emma, and none of them seem good enough.

A part of him worries that he’s not good enough.

And the more that he thinks about it, the more stressed he gets. It’s enough to have him pour himself a small tumbler of rum, then another, and by the time he settles down on his couch with his phone in his hand, it’s a little after ten. He still doesn’t know what to say.

How does one put into words months and years’ worth of feelings and thoughts?

Maybe he should simply ask if she’d be willing to meet for a cup of coffee. That'll be easier.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and when he looks down at the screen, he swears that he’s delusional. There’s no way. It’s not...this is too good to be true, and things like this aren’t how life has been going for him lately.

**Emma:** I know it’s been forever. Thirty-five days, which isn’t actually forever. You may hate me now. I’m really not sure how you feel, and that’s killing me. I used to always know how you were feeling because we’d talk about it or I could tell from the look on your face. I miss your face. And you. I miss you so damn much that I freak out every time I so much as see someone with blue eyes. Anyways, I think I’m ready to talk. Living without you has been impossible, but I think it’s what I needed to realize that I’m ready to make sacrifices so we can be together. I love you. I promise that I never stopped.

Killian reads the words over and over again until he can repeat them back to himself. Nothing else exists in the world besides the hope that he’s been given by Emma texting him, telling him the exact thing he needed to tell her. He’s still in the camp of not necessarily believing in fate, but maybe he should.

Maybe this is one of those idiotic signs that things are going to be okay.

Or maybe this is simply Emma telling him what she told him: she’s ready to work on things. He is too.

He’s fucking desperate for it.

**Killian:** I love you. I’m more than ready for all of that, and I’ve been working as hard as I can to figure out ways to make this easier for you. I’m sorry that I’ve brought you into the mess that is my life.

**Killian:** I love you. I simply had to say that again. Let me know when you want to talk, and I’m ready.

Killian’s eyes never leave his phone screen. It’s unhealthy, is probably killing his corneas or something, but he keeps waiting for the small bubbles to pop up to tell him that Emma is texting him back. He knows that he texted her back nearly twenty minutes after she texted him, but he can’t imagine Emma not having her phone with her unless she’s busy at work. He has no idea how much she’s been able to work lately, if she’s even working her regular shifts or simply doing set-up, clean-up, and the books, and Killian is desperate to know.

A part of him wants to drive to the pub, to climb up the fire escape and crash into David and Mary Margaret’s bedroom so as not to have to work through the crowd, but he knows that’s too much. He knows it.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Killian waits, his phone never moving more than a few inches away from him, and he doesn’t allow himself to think of anything else or to go down some metaphorical rabbit hole of wondering why Emma isn’t texting him back. That will do him no good.

Hours pass, and as much as Killian’s mind is running and his heart is thumping, sleep manages to call to him so that his eyes are closing and everything goes black.

Peace.

Until he’s been shocked awake by the sound of his phone ringing, and in his drowsy state, he doesn’t look at who is calling before he slides his finger across the screen and answers.

“Hello?”

“Killian?”

“Yeah, Dave?” His words shock him awake, the realization of who he’s speaking to having him nearly roll off the couch before he catches himself and blinks into the awareness of where he is. “Dave?”

“It’s me,” David sighs. “Listen, I don’t want you to freak out, but - ”

“What’s wrong? Is Emma okay? Are you okay? Mary Margaret? What’s happening? I need to know what’s happening because telling me that - ”

“Killian,” David interrupts, and he’s finally awake enough to hear the hoarseness of David’s voice, “I need you to take a deep breath and calm down, son. Can you do that for me?”

Killian nods his head and inhales, nearly forgetting to exhale. “Okay, I’m fine. Why are you calling me at one in the morning?”

“Emma was in a car accident. She’s fine. Or as fine as she can be. She’s pretty scraped up and has a broken arm that’s about to get a cast put on it. They’re going to keep her overnight for some observations, but her doctors have assured us that she’s going to be fine and that she’s lucky these are her only injuries.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and much like earlier, doesn’t allow him to think of anything else than his next step, his next words. “Which hospital, mate?”

“St. Mary’s.”

“Can I...can I come see her?”

“She asked for you. Her phone was destroyed in the accident, but she was very clear that she wanted me to call you and let you know.”

“I,” Killian begins while some of the adrenaline rushes out of him and reality hits him like a ton of bricks. “I’m so sorry I hurt all of you, David. It’s not right what you’ve all been through because of me, and I promise I’m going to make things better. I have actual plans now.”

David sighs, and Killian is sure that he’s overstepped. “Mary Margaret and I tried for another kid a few years after Emma, but it never happened. We always wanted another kid, looked into adoption but couldn’t afford it, and I don’t know...I know it may be odd for me to think of my daughter’s boyfriend like a son when there have been so many times that I should hate you, but I do. As does Mary Margaret. We love you, and the two of you being broken up has been hell for a lot of reasons.”

Killian shudders, nearly every word he knows running from his mind. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. I’ll text you her information. Be safe driving. It’s raining pretty heavily out there still.”

Killian nods his head and ends the call, but instead of getting up and immediately walking out the door, he tucks his head between his knees and allows himself to have a moment to breathe and to calm himself down. Emma was in an accident. She’s hurt. She got hurt right after texting him. She must have. Was she driving? Was she with someone else? He didn’t even ask?

He couldn’t think.

He still can’t.

Everything about this is fucked up.

_She’s okay_ , he reminds himself. _Emma is okay_.

On shaky legs, Killian stands and begins gathering his things, slipping back into his trainers and raincoat, and the moment Killian walks outside and sees the heavy rainfall, he knows that he can’t drive or even walk the short distance. He’s had too much to drink and no matter how sober he feels, he can’t be dumb enough to take that risk. August is the first person that comes to his mind, but he can’t. There’s too much going on there with him and the possibility of him being the leak, and Killian knows that Liam is his only option.

Pressing his name in his phone, Killian waits for Liam to answer. “Hello?”

“Can you take me to St. Mary’s right now?”

Killian fills Liam in on everything on their way, trying to get as much information as he can in the ten-minute drive, and Liam simply nods and listens to Killian rant before he’s parking in the public lot and the two of them are rushing inside soaked to the bone looking like madmen. If anyone roaming the hallways recognizes them, they’re kind enough not to say anything. Their family works with this hospital enough that Killian hopes there will be some kind of goodwill and discrepancy in everything.

They find Emma’s room, and David is standing outside of it with his arms crossed and his head leaning against the wall. Killian doesn’t even consider the fact that his clothes are soaked through when he embraces the man, feeling the warmth immediately radiating off of him while David cups the back of his head.

“Thank you for coming, Killian.”

“Thank you for calling me.” He pulls back and stares at David before he notices David’s eyes glance back at Liam. “David, this is my brother, Liam. Liam, this is Emma’s father, David.”

David reaches out to shake Liam’s hand, and Liam blinks, obviously taken aback by David’s casual attitude toward them. Liam may be working on things, but he’s still had thirty-seven years of people literally bowing down to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Liam,” David says.

“Likewise, sir,” Liam responds before nodding toward the hospital room. “I’m sorry about your daughter. I’m happy that she’ll be all right.”

“As am I.” David turns to Killian and raises a brow. “Do we like your brother now?”

Killian laughs, something he didn’t think was possible right now. “We’re working on it. Can I go see Emma now? I have so many questions about what happened, but I need to see her.”

“We don’t know much either, except that she and the cab driver are both okay, but yeah, go see her. Mary Margaret is sitting in there with her.”

Closing his eyes, Killian braces himself before taking the steps to walk inside the hospital room. It’s small, almost claustrophobic, and he sees Mary Margaret before he sees Emma. But then he does. She’s sitting in the bed with an IV hooked up to her arm and has a few bandages on her face and over her arm before he sees the cast. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be, but it’s still not comfortable to see Emma looking like this.

Damaged. Broken.

No, no, no. Hurt. She is neither damaged or broken no matter how much she used to believe that.

“Swan,” he whispers, and she turns her head to look at him before her lips part.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Killian chuckles before stepping forward and dipping his head down to lightly brush his lips over her forehead and lingering there because he can’t bear to pull away. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Like I got run over by a truck, which is only partly true.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Did it not work?”

“I’m not entirely interested in joking about you being hurt, darling.”

“I’m okay,” she promises, and he feels her hand push back some of his hair. “I promise. Did you have to bribe a nurse to get in here? I’m not technically supposed to have visitors.”

“I didn’t stop at a desk. Liam and I walked right on in.”

“Liam is here?”

“Aye, he drove me. I had a few drinks tonight and I didn’t...he’s trying, Emma. We’re trying to fix things.”

“Good.”

There’s a cough behind them, and Killian pulls back to see Mary Margaret standing from her seat. “I think I’ll take David to go and get something to eat and let the two of you have some time to talk.”

“You don’t have to, Mom.”

“No,” Mary Margaret sighs, patting Emma’s leg, “I do. I think I need some coffee as well. Do you want anything?”

“Maybe something to drink.”

“Killian?”

“No thank you,” he tells her before flashing her a smile. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, dear.”

When Mary Margaret walks out of the room and closes the door behind her, Killian moves around Emma’s bed and pulls a chair close to it before sitting down.

“Don’t sit on the chair,” Emma says. “You’ll ruin it.”

There’s a sob in Killian’s laugh as he’s brought back to the day they met. It’s still so clear in his mind. He could replay it if he needed to. And Emma making a joke about it is oddly enough the thing that assures him that she’s okay. It wasn’t David or Liam. It wasn’t even seeing her. It was this.

He shrugs his coat off of his shoulders before reaching forward and taking Emma’s hand in his. She’s chilled, her usual warmth absent, but he holds on regardless.

“What happened, love?”

Emma squeezes his hand and sits up in the bed, adjusting the small blanket she has over her. “I had gone to Ruby’s because I may or may not have been having a meltdown over, well, you, and I needed to talk to her because I’ve kind of been bottling everything up. So when I was leaving there earlier, I called a cab and was sitting in the backseat when I texted you. Did you...did you get that text?”

He nods and brings her hand to his lips. “Aye. I’m ready to fix things too.”

Her cheeks redden, and she turns away before looking back at him and resting her head against the pillow. She’s so beautiful, and his chest tightens, air escaping. “So I texted you and then looked up at the rain and all of the sudden there were cars riding up right behind us, and I saw cameras before there was, like, this collision and we started spinning until the taxi hit another car.”

“Cameras?”

“Yeah, cameras.”

Killian swallows and clenches his jaw hard enough that it aches. “There were fucking paparazzi following you, Emma. They caused you to crash. They not only hurt you but also the driver and possibly others on the road. That’s...that’s fucking despicable, and I will not stand for it. I’m getting you security and your own driver. There’s got to be some kind of statement or law I can get. There has to be - I’ve been working to make this easier for you, and I’ve still somehow failed you. This is my fault.”

“Shut up.”

“Pardon?”

“Shut up,” Emma repeats. “Just shut up, Killian. This isn’t your fault. You were not one of those photographers. You were not their bosses. You didn’t...I know where you’re coming from and I understand how I’ve probably made you feel this way, but none of this has ever been your fault. You can’t help who your family is any more than I can.”

“But - ”

She shakes her head and shifts in the bed. “Can we please talk about this later? I’ve had a long ass night. Or day. Or month. Whatever. And as pathetic as it sounds, all I really want is for you to sit with me in this super uncomfortable bed because I’ve _missed_ you.”

Killian nods and rises before carefully settling down next to Emma. they have to shift to give them both enough room, and he wraps his arm around her shoulder while she tucks her head against his chest and sticks her feet in between his thighs. Killian could sob at the feeling of having Emma tucked up against him, even with the cast on her arm that looks out of place on his stomach.

This isn’t how he wanted them to come back together, but this is how they have.

“You know,” Emma whispers, “they gave me a pair of those socks with the gripping on the bottom.”

Killian’s chest rumbles, a memory of the two of them joking around about Emma’s cold feet and how he’d love her even if they had sex while she was wearing hospital socks. It’s ridiculous. It was at the time, is still now, but it’s also insanely perfect.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I was thinking about saving them for when I’m better, you know. I think it’d be a great way for us to get back in our groove.”

He barks out a laugh before boldly deciding to dip his head down and run his lips over Emma’s. They’re chapped and have a cut on the corner, and as different as they feel, somehow it’s all the same. Nothing about that makes sense, but he honestly doesn’t need it to.

He’s good with a little different. It’s likely what they needed.

No, definitely what they needed.

“You taste like rum.”

“And it’s higher quality than the stuff you serve me at the pub. It’s been the one good thing about being apart.”

Emma laughs before pulling back and tucking her head underneath his chin. “I don’t know how the hell we’re going to fix all of this.”

Killian rubs his hand up and down her shoulder and kisses the crown of her head. He can’t seem to stop touching her to make sure that she’s real. “Let’s focus on letting you get some rest and getting out of here before that, okay?”

He spends the night in the hospital with Emma and her parents as well as Liam who stays and chats with David and Mary Margaret like they’ve been mates for years. It’s jarring and relieving all at once, and after everything, Killian doesn’t know if he has the energy to question any of it. There’s so much talking and compromise still to be done, and the absolute only thing he cares about right now is Emma.

He’s loved her and lost her, and he’d prefer not to do the latter again.

Ever.

Once Emma is dismissed from the hospital the next morning with instructions on how to take care of her cuts and her cast, they’re hurried out of a backdoor to the hospital where David is waiting with the car. Thankfully no one seemed to leak word of the accident even with the paparazzi involved, so they’re able to leave St. Mary’s completely undetected. The outside of The Swan’s Feather is a completely different story. It’s not flush with people, but there are enough to make it uncomfortable for all of them to walk inside. One would think that the press would die down and that there would be a loss of interest in mobbing Emma for pictures, but Killian’s hopes are obviously too high.

The fact that he gets a text from Ariel sending him a link to a newly published story about he and Emma’s breakup allows Killian to realize that it’s only going to get more insane.

It does firmly establish that August Booth is the leak, and Killian’s heart aches at the confirmation. How could he have done this to them? Why would he have done this? There has to be a reason.

That’s not what he needs to focus on right now, however, so he tells David to take them to his place so that they can all have some privacy while they digest everything that’s happened in the past fifteen hours.

Or the past month.

Once they’re settled inside the apartment, Emma excuses herself to go upstairs to take a bath, mentioning wanting to wash the hospital and accident grime off of her, and while she’s gone, Killian begins puttering around the kitchen trying to find something to make David and Mary Margaret feel at home here in the way that they’ve always made him feel at home in their flat.

He’s overthinking it. He knows. But that doesn’t keep him from offering them everything in his kitchen, including the sink, before Mary Margaret places her hand on his and smiles up at him with that smile he’s always thought looks just the same as Emma’s.

“Your home is lovely, Killian,” she promises, “and we have more than we need. Why don’t you go upstairs and see if Emma needs any help? I don’t think she took anything to wrap her cast.”

“Do you want...are you sure neither of you would like to go check on her? I’m not entirely sure that I’ll be welcomed.”

“You will be.”

“Besides,” David yawns, “I haven’t slept, it’s been a long day, and I think we need a nap since I’m sure you have a few bedrooms to spare.”

“Aye,” Killian laughs. “I think I can arrange that.”

After Killian shows David and Mary Margaret to his guest room on the first floor of his apartment, he heads upstairs to his bedroom and closes the door behind him. The bathroom door is open, and water runs from the faucet of the tub. When Killian peaks inside, though, Emma isn’t sitting in the tub. She’s sitting on a stool beside it with her head buried in her hand and her shoulders slightly shaking.

Someone might as well have poured cement in his stomach for the weight he feels.

“Darling?”

“Don’t judge me,” Emma whimpers. Her voice is scratchy and dark, and another piece chips off his heart. “I’m...I didn’t c-cry aft...after the accident. I didn’t cry when I could have died. I held it together. I told myself that I couldn’t cry anymore after this last month, and I - I - ”

“What is it?”

She removes her face from her hands and looks up at him with puffy red eyes and the most pathetic smile he’s ever seen. “I can’t get my freaking shirt off to take a bath, and I’m having a meltdown.”

Killian bites his tongue. He will not laugh at her. He cannot when she is obviously not feeling like herself right now.

“My love, if I may be so bold, I don’t think the meltdown is actually about the shirt.”

“Oh no, it definitely is.”

Scoffing, he takes the steps forward until he’s kneeling down in front of Emma and grabbing the bottom of her blouse. “May I?”

She nods in affirmation.

Slowly, Killian grabs onto the hem of her shirt and pulls it up. It’s stuck to some of her bandages, and he’s careful not to tug any of them off even though they’ll come off before she gets in the tub, and once he’s clear of them, he carefully pulls her shirt up over her head and the thick plaster of her cast. That’s going to be a bugger for the next six weeks.

“Do you want me to take off your bandages as well?”

“If you could.”

He looks up at her, and when he sees her unsure smile, he’s sure to give her a soft, gentle grin that she’s always known was just for her.

So much about him has always been for her.

It takes a few minutes to deal with the bandages, especially when he sees Emma’s entire stomach flinch with pain, and some of her stitches look absolutely horrendous. There’s one at her hip, this black line that…

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this on your hip?” Her stomach tenses, and when he glances toward her face, he can see that she’s gone positively red. “What is this, love?”

“A tattoo,” she mumbles before quickly spitting out the next few words, “ _like the scar you have on your hip_.”

Killian blinks while his head retracks, and then his eyes dart from Emma’s face to the mark on her skin. It’s a small, slightly crooked lightning bolt, and as familiar as it looks, he can see the differences to the one on his own hip. It’s not a light red but instead a dark black, and the lines are more defined. Her skin is paler than his, less marked with hair and muscles, but he’d recognize that mark anywhere.

He used to hate it, but Emma’s always loved it, always called it hers.

A finger swipes across his cheek underneath his eye, and that’s when he feels the salty tears escaping him and streaking down his cheeks while his throat clogs up with emotions.

“Hey,” Emma whispers, and when he looks up at her, he can see that her eyes are watery too, “are you mad at me for that? For getting that tattoo?”

What a perfectly stupid question.

“No, love, I’m not cross with you. How could I ever be?”

“I can think of about one hundred different reasons for us to be mad at each other.”

Killian huffs, but he can’t stop crying. It’s a release of emotions, ones he wasn’t sure that he still had, and all he can manage to do is rest his cheek against Emma’s thigh so that his head is resting against the lightning bolt ink that she got while they were separated.

He almost lost her.

They all did. She could have died. This accident could have been far worse than it is, and Killian doesn’t mean to be selfish, but what the hell would he do if Emma was gone and he had no one to talk to? To spend time with? To be by his side?

Losing her but knowing she was still out there, only a short distance from him hurt like hell. Losing her and never being able to see her again would have killed him. He’s sure of it.

“It’s okay,” Emma promises as her hand runs his hair, a soothing touch that he’s fucking missed. “You’re okay, my love. I’m okay. We’re both okay. I promise.”

“You could have died, Emma,” he mumbles into her stomach before kissing there, wishing that he could kiss her everywhere.

“I didn’t. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods his head once more before standing from his spot on the floor and leaning down to cup Emma’s cheeks. His thumbs wipe away her tears, and maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen her in a month, but he doesn’t think her eyes have ever been so green.

When he kisses her, she tastes of salt and nothing else but the familiar taste and feeling of Emma. It’s deeper than their kiss at the hospital, longer and slower too, and Killian could linger in this space forever, somewhere between less and more, falling backward and moving forward.

She’s home.

He is too.

“My lips are probably too chapped to do this.”

“I don’t bloody care,” Killian chuckles before kissing her again, light brushes of lips over lips. “I desperately needed to kiss you, chapped lips and all. I love you, Emma. Can we not do this again? This separation?”

“Really? You don’t want to do this again? It was kind of fun.”

“I dislike you, you minx.”

“Nope,” she laughs, and God is it good to hear that sound again. “You love me. You said it, and you can’t take it back. I love you, too, by the way, and I’m ready to work with all of this craziness and to be better at talking and...yeah, I’m sorry.” She smiles and presses her nose into his cheek. “‘I’m ready to tackle everything after I take this bath and you help me wash my hair. I’m ready for this future we should have already started.”

“Good,” he grins while his heart settles back to its proper position. “Besides, the future’s nothing to be afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs*
> 
> okay, you can all stop being mad at me now 😉


	12. Chapter Twelve

**October 19th, 2018**

October dawns bright and warm, but as it settles in, the warmth disappears into a chill and the brightness of the sky turns to the gray for which London is often known. Leaves are still in the midst of changing colors, from a dull green to vibrant oranges and reds that contrast the sky, and Emma finds herself staring out the large window in Killian’s bedroom to look at the leaves falling from a tree and drifting through the air until they eventually land on the edge of the roof. It’s been seven weeks since she slept in her own bed and had her parents just down the hall from her, and as weird as it’s been, she’s thankful for this.

She’s thankful that every day she is actively making the choice to be with Killian and to work at adjusting to all of the complications that come with this life.

It’s more than a lot, but as she looks down at her arm and sees it without the ugly white plaster and stretches her arms above her head without any pain, Emma reminds herself that time and a little extra care can heal things. The immediate reaction and pain doesn’t stay. It changes and lessens. Her body is healing, her heart too, and the darkness that surrounded her for all of August seems to have almost been extinguished.

Nothing about this has been easy, but Emma doesn’t want to retreat back and walk away again. She still believes that her reasons were sound, that she had to do it in order to take care of herself and protect her heart, and in a weird way, coming out on the other side has made her thankful for it.

Getting into a car crash and possibly almost dying because photographers wanted a picture of her sitting in a car after they found out about she and Killian’s breakup wasn’t great. She could have done without that. She still could. And she definitely won’t be getting in a car on a rainy night anytime soon.

Her physical scars may be lessening, most of them non-existent now, but she’s not ready for that. She’s not ready for a lot of things, but when has she ever been?

“Darling,” Killian calls out, and she gets a little smile on her face at how much his accent thickens on that word, “do you know where my solid navy tie is? It should be with all of the others, but I can’t find it.”

“Where did you last see it?”

“If I bloody well knew that, I wouldn’t be asking where it is.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom before walking outside and finishing the buttons on his dress shirt. He looks handsome today in his navy pants and light blue dress shirt, and she really doesn’t see why he needs to wear a tie when he looks fine without it. Royal dress code or something. She doesn’t know. Over the past few weeks as she’s isolated herself in Killian’s apartment at Kensington or wandered over to Liam and Elsa’s to spend time with Elsa, she’s found herself going through guidebooks that Elsa had made when she got engaged to Liam. There are all these rules and regulations from how to cross your legs to what nail polish she’s supposed to wear, and while Emma thinks a lot of it is bullshit, it’s the territory that comes with being in this relationship.

Emma will paint her nails ballet slipper pink and cross her legs at the ankle every damn day if that’s what it takes. What she won’t do is be suffocated by the press and by Brennan.

What she won’t do is make Killian leave his family and break his mom’s heart simply because she couldn’t handle the pressure.

If he wants to leave, if it is truly his decision outside of her, she’s more than happy for them to live their lives in a simpler way where Killian doesn’t have to worry about where his solid navy tie is. Leaving may be in their future, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

But if they’re staying and doing this, she wants to make the best out of the situation. She wants to work with charities that help empower women and children. She wants to do that for men too, to educate them on the intricacies over an ever-changing world. She wants to do good and be good. This family is insane, the money and the traditions and the vault full of actual tiaras like something out of a movie, but they can use their privilege to do good.

Emma knows what it’s like to not have this kind of privilege, and now she may be in a position to help.

“Cool down, Casanova. No need to get all snippy over your tie. Where are you even going today?”

“The opening of a hospital wing and then I’m meeting with a slew of new security guards to interview.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Killian arches a brow. “Haven’t you spent enough time in hospitals lately?”

“I meant to the interviews, dumbass. Isn’t this for my security, too?”

Killian fidgets with the neck of his shirt, buttoning and then unbuttoning it so that black tufts of chest hair show. “Aye, but I figured I’d go through the candidates first, and then you could meet the top few to see which ones you’re most comfortable with.”

“I can come with you. It’s really not a big deal. I don’t have any plans for the day.”

“Swan, it’s fine. I promise.” Killian walks over to her and sits down on the edge of the bed next to her before taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. “This is a dreadfully boring process, and my father is unfortunately going to be there for some of it, though I’ll likely leave the room when he does his own interviews. I don’t - after August, he’s convinced that I can’t pick out my own security team.”

“August was...I mean, he was selling information about us because his dad is sick and can’t afford the surgeries and medication back in America. He was willing to risk prison to save his dad. That’s not something you could have predicted.”

A part of Emma understands the words she’s telling Killian, but the other part of her wants to punch August’s fucking teeth out for making her life hell and inadvertently causing her crash.

“You’ve met Brennan. You know how he can be. I could do everything perfectly, but one screw up that’s outside of my control, and I’m incompetent.”

“Your dad sucks.”

Killian leans his head back with his laugh before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her knuckles once more. “In three words, you’ve managed to sum up quite a bit of my life.”

“I’m magical like that.”

“That you are, my love. That you are.” Killian sighs and blinks at her a few times. She thinks he’s going to say something to her, but then there’s a slight shake of his head and she knows the moment has passed. “Give me a little more time, and I swear I’ll talk to him. Seriously. He and I may never get along, but that’s okay. I simply need him to publicly accept you and to sign off on all of these protection measures for you.”

“Killian, you know you don’t have to do - ”

“No, I do. I will do everything I can to protect you, and if that means I have to have an actual conversation with my father where I don’t leave the room until I get what I want, I will. We’ve missed so much time not talking and not taking action. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Emma leans forward and presses her mouth to Killian’s cheek. “I love you. You should wear the white and navy striped tie instead of the solid one.”

He raises his hand to his forehead as he stands from the bed. “Aye, that’s a good idea.”

“And babe?”

“Yeah, love?”

“If Graham Humbert doesn’t make it to the final interview stage for security, Ruby and I will both be pissed at you. He’s who I want protecting me.”

“That doesn’t terrify me as much as it should.”

“Ruby will be vicious.”

“Eh.”

“I can withhold sex, and you just got that back.”

Killian mock gasps, placing his hand over his heart. “You’re a liar, Emma Nolan. I know you find me too attractive to ever do that.”

He catches the pillow she throws with annoying ease, and she hates him for it.

(Not really.)

After Killian leaves, Emma falls back into bed and thinks that she’ll spend her day watching Netflix or doing something else as equally lazy. What better way is there to spend her last day of being twenty-five?

None.

But that lasts approximately two episodes of a show before guilt nags at her, and she’s moving the covers off of her legs and standing from the bed with a frown etched on her lips and the idea that she needs to clean something. Cleaning is not at all her thing unless she’s working at the pub, but she’s been pretty much on vacation (if vacation included recovering from a car crash and having a million talks with your boyfriend over all of the problems in your relationship) for two months, and she’s probably genetically unable to not work for such long periods of time.

She’s in a literal palace, even if it’s nothing like any of the movies or shows, and instead of relaxing, she wants to clean up the spots Killian has let go over the past few weeks from not having a maid to aid him in his ridiculously specific cleaning rituals.

What even is her life?

She starts in the kitchen, going through Killian’s fridge and throwing out everything that’s expired or has gone bad, and she quickly moves on from that to vacuuming every rug and sweeping or dusting the places that get missed. It’s a lot, and if it wasn’t for the music that is playing over the system, she’d have quit hours ago. She’s about to quit now when she remembers just how messy Killian’s closet is because of her absolute inability to hang up her own clothes.

They’ve probably had more fights about that than, oh, you know, whether or not the actual King of England wants to behead her or not.

(Currently, they’re leaning more toward him wanting to lock her away in a dungeon so she can’t cause any more unintentional media frenzies. It’s apparently less dramatic than a beheading because at least she gets to live...this is a weird train of thought.)

Emma’s phone starts ringing, and she pulls it out of her pocket to answer as she walks up the stairs.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets. “How are you feeling today? Old? Young? Like your life is over because you’re getting closer to late-twenties than early-twenties?”

“You are the most encouraging person alive.”

“I try.”

Emma chuckles and turns down the hallway to go into the bedroom, picking up her bra from where Killian must have tossed it last night and placing it in the hamper. “I’m fine. Killian’s at work opening a new hospital wing, apparently. I’m cleaning. How are you? What are you guys up to today?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say you were cleaning? Are we sure that you don’t have a concussion?”

“Your dad jokes are not good.”

“Every joke I’ve told since the day you were born has been a dad joke, and they’ve all been fabulous.”

She groans and walks into the closet before placing her phone on the table in the center of the room and putting it on speaker so she can do a little work before she loses momentum.

“I’m taking your dad joke privileges away, and to answer your question, I really am fine. I’m just messy, and Killian hasn’t had any of his usual staff in the apartment while I’ve been here. I think the whole August thing freaked him out so that he doesn’t trust anyone around me.”

“Someone close to him was selling information about you that harmed you. I’d be freaked out too. Hell, I am freaked out. If I wouldn’t get arrested for assault, I’d confront the guy.”

Everyone she loves wants to punch everyone who has hurt her, but they all stop themselves because of the fear of getting arrested for assault…she’s not sure if that’s flattering or concerning.

“What are you and Mom up to today?” she questions again, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t want to talk about all of the shitty stuff that’s been happening to her lately. All she wants is to pick up all of her sweaters from the ground and figure out which ones need to be washed. Focusing on the bad is not how she’s going to move forward.

(And maybe not having to see August Booth’s face.)

“Your mom is downstairs with Will going over some possible menu changes, and I’ve been told I’m not allowed in the pub until I fix whatever is up with this toilet.”

“Ah, so you called me to procrastinate on doing that?”

“You know me so well.”

Emma fills in her dad on everything that’s been going on over the past few days. She tells him that her arm almost doesn’t feel weird anymore and that Ruby came over for dinner two nights again and brought Graham along with her. David is nearly as shocked by that as she was. This might be the longest relationship Ruby has ever had, and it’s good to see her so happy. It’s good that Emma likes Graham in that he’s dating her best friend and also might be protecting Emma’s life from now on if his next round of interviews goes well. In return, her dad gives her far too much information on the date he and her mom went on last night, and then he spends at least ten minutes talking about the difference in two brands of tomatoes.

All the while Emma has almost the entire closet (seriously, her dad talked for way too long and gave too much information about the date like he was talking to a friend and not his daughter) cleaned up. When she moves a pair of jeans that are on Killian’s side of the closet, she finds his solid blue navy tie he was searching for earlier.

“Ha,” she mumbles before reaching down to grab the tie.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says to her dad before tugging on the tie and pulling it up only for a small black box to roll out of it and tumble down onto the ground. “Holy shit.”

“Emma, are you okay?” David asks, but Emma barely hears him over the pounding of her heart. There might as well be an entire drumline in the room.

“Emma?”

“Y-yeah,” she lies even as her fingers tug so tightly on the tie that it might tear. “Hey, Dad? Has Killian talked to you about any...future type things?”

“What do you mean?”

Emma huffs and goes to pick up the box. They could be earrings, right? Or a necklace? Or another ring? She’s got a sapphire one she wears on her right hand. Killian has given her a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. That doesn’t mean what’s in this box is one. He buys her jewelry, and it’s not a big deal.

Except…

When the hell did he have time to get this?

How long has he had it? What made him decide to get it? When does he plan on using it? Does he still plan on using it after their breakup?

“You know what I mean. Has he - you know what,” Emma decides, placing the box on the table, “never mind. Don’t tell me anything. I think I’m going to have to call you back later.”

“Whatever you want,” David sighs, confused. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

And then the phone line disconnects and she’s left with nothing except for the sound of that damn drumline and the jewelry box that she doesn’t know what to do with. She’s not going to look. She can’t look. There’s no good that would come out of it.

She really wants to look.

Like, really.

“No,” Emma tells herself, grabbing the box off the table and moving to put it back where it must have been before it got tangled in her jeans and in the tie. She puts the tie back for good measure as well, and she’s absolutely going to bite her tongue on bragging about finding the tie when Killian gets home.

_He wants to marry her._

_She wants to marry him._

Maybe cleaning was worth something.

-/-

Killian comes home that night with grilled cheese sandwiches, which he hates, and onion rings from Ruby’s grandmother’s restaurant, and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more.

He tells her that Graham has moved onto the final selections even with Brennan’s hounding and worry over Graham not being trained in the same way as their usual security.

Emma knows that she wants him to be the one who’s hired. She’s not going to trust anyone else, not after everything that’s happened.

-/-

He doesn’t give her any kind of jewelry for her birthday the next day, and she _knows_ what was in the box.

There’s no definite proof, but Emma knows.

Right now, where they are, she’s not ready to get married, but she will be someday. Probably soon. So if Killian were to ask her, she’d say yes over and over again, but the actual getting married part would have to be put on hold until her emotions, Killian’s too, were a little less chaotic.

Love is a really funny thing.

-/-

**November 10th, 2018**

The cool of the marble pebbles Emma’s skin as Killian helps guide her on top of the counter. His fingers inch over the back of her thighs and up behind her knees where she’s sensitive, and she giggles into his neck while trying to keep herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. Killian keeps the apartment so warm that she didn’t bother to put on anything more than her sleep shorts and a t-shirt last night before going to bed, and she’s regretting that now with every shift over her body over the countertop. But Killian is warm, especially when he steps in between her thighs and she hooks her ankles around his back right over his ass, and every touch of his fingers, gentle and teasing, brings a little more fire to her body.

Especially if he’d stop trying to tickle her while hotly running his tongue down the side of her throat and leaving open-mouthed kisses there.

He’s particularly good at those, and she could spend day after day close to him as he covers her body with affectionate words and delicate brushes of lips that turn into more.

Really, that’s been the last two months, even with her having to wear that atrocious cast for most of it, but they found simple ways to fix that. Being apart and not having those beautiful blue eyes to look into or that laugh to hear after a funny joke was absolutely torture, and having him back in her life, having him back as her person, is something Emma doesn’t ever want to take for granted again.

She will inevitably. It’s human nature. But she doesn’t want to.

Being with Killian is the easy thing. Fighting off the demons is what makes it difficult, but fighting off the demons and conquering them has made her realize that good things often come after struggles that seem impossible.

She’s a sentimental fool now, and she doesn’t care.

(Finding the engagement ring two weeks ago has made her even more sentimental.)

She especially doesn’t care as Killian’s tongue dips into her collarbone and his hands snake up underneath her shirt, warm palms against cool skin in a combination of which she’ll never tire. Emma knows that Killian is a sentimental fool now too. He was before, definitely more than her, but she can see all of the little ways he’s being more affectionate than he was before.

That’s saying something.

But his affection has been obvious lately. In the mornings, she always wakes to him curled around her, hand resting between her breasts and chin nuzzled into the back of her neck. That’s not how they sleep, not usually, so she knows that he does that when he wakes up in the morning while she’s still sleeping. He’s always touching her - hands intertwined, arm around her waist, ankles hooked together - like he’s looking for constant reassurance that she’s real.

That they’re real.

Killian has gone to war for her on multiple occasions, and she has seen the intensity and the fighting spirit that he possesses. She watched him break down over her accident and watched him absolutely vilify every single press association that was involved in that incident or any of the ones that have attacked her in the past or stolen private information from her. She’s watched him deal with the Neal interviews that seem to keep coming despite their falsities, and she’s watched him do absolutely everything that he can to protect her.

Emma never wanted protection or help. She thought that it made her weak to not be able to handle things on her own, but that was wrong.

All of it.

People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You have to punch back and say “no, this is who I am.” If you want people to look at you differently, make them. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself. Because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.

But there are supportive partners who punch back with you or stand to the side and cheer you on when you need it the most.

“I hate these bloody shorts,” Killian mumbles into her skin as the deep timbre of his voice vibrates down her spine. “I seem to both want you in them and out of them all at once.”

“That’s quite the conundrum you have going on, Jones.”

Killian chuckles before nipping at her jaw and pulling back so that she sees his eyes are blown black. “You are the conundrum, Nolan,” he softly says as his thumbs ghost over both of her nipples, slowly but surely bringing them to peaks. “It’s a funny thing. I seem to always want you. I want you in the mornings, at night, in the middle of the damn day…”

Emma hums while pleasure continues to curl between her thighs, and she wraps her arms loosely around his neck, playing with his hair and running the gemstone of her ring down the back of his neck. “Tell me more about this wanting me in the morning thing.”

The look on his face is positively dirty, and it’s exactly what she wants. So when his hands leave her breasts and move to take her shirt off, she stretches her arms in the air and allows him to undress her until the warm air of the heater is touching her skin. Killian shifts against her so that she can feel his length brushing against where she wants him, a perfect fit in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable, and she melts at his touch as the roughness of his unshaven scruff scratches against her neck and down her sternum to be between her breasts.

“You’re a damn temptress,” he mutters, voice deep and raspy with sleep still lingering. “I wake up and see the smoothness of your skin laid out before me, and my mind is only filled with thoughts of you. I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Do you now?” His fingers tug into her shorts and her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he pulls them down and off of her ankles so that she’s left bare before him, the marble chilling her skin has goosebumps pop up and spread over her.

“I do. Most definitely. You’re quite the catch.”

Killian laughs as he captures her lips, so soft and pliant and warm, with her own. There’s something to be said for kissing just for the sake of kissing, the _feeling_ it sends through her body, and when Emma gently runs her tongue across his bottom lip, asking for entrance, he gladly grants it, tangling their tongues together in one of his favorite dances. She’s definitely picked a partner who knows what he’s doing.

Emma runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her hand anchored there while the other runs up his spine, soft little taps of her fingertips against the bone underneath his shirt. They stay that way for awhile, lips moving together, until Emma’s hand leaves his hair to move underneath his shirt as well, pulling up at the material until he pulls back and tugs it over his head.

“I feel like we’re on a little bit more equal footing now. You were wearing too many clothes.”

“Was I? I hadn’t noticed. I was a little bit distracted by how unsanitary it’s going to be for us to fuck in the kitchen.”

“That’s literally never stopped you before.”

He huffs and leans forward to kiss her, slow and so impossibly thorough that she feels it all the way down to her toes. “I know,” he grins. “Are you okay up there, or do you want to move upstairs?”

“As long as you don’t hit my head into a cabinet, I’m fine.”

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he whispers against her skin, kissing the tops of her breasts as her eyelids flutter closed and she recovers from the whiplash in the change of his tone. “I remember the first time I saw you, Emma,” he speaks into her skin as his nose drags along her stomach and arousal tugs at her belly. “You were – are so bloody gorgeous, the curls of your ponytail framing your face and the dark of your eyelashes looking down at me as you told me to get my soggy ass out of the booth.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protests, running her hand through the hair and tugging him down closer to where she’s desperately aching for her.

There’s something about the night that they met that Killian always thinks about. It’s a frequent remembrance, this conversation one they’ve had before, and Emma knows that in moments where Killian is nostalgic, where he’s thinking about how much she means to him, his mind goes back to that night and piecing together all of the circumstances for their meeting.

She doesn’t care how it happened. Just that it did.

No one was ever supposed to love her or treasure her like this. This wasn’t supposed to be how it is for her. She wasn’t supposed to get the good guy. It wasn’t in the cards.

Life has apparently decided to deal her a new hand altogether.

“But you were thinking it,” he whispers against skin, lips pressing against her small tattoo and lingering there. She thought getting that might be a mistake, that the desperation was too much, but over the past few weeks, Killian has held onto it like a glimmer of hope. She did the same. “You looked so frustrated with me, like how dare I walk into your pub in order to get out of the rain.”

“Shameful, really,” she teases, and when she opens her mouth to say something else, she can’t, her throat suddenly too tight to speak while the entirety of the English language escapes from her brain.

Killian’s hands hook around the back of her knees, and this time there’s no playful teasing. Instead, he spreads her legs further apart and bends down to his own knees. She’s about to make a joke about him not hurting himself, a tease over his twenty-ninth birthday last month and how dramatic he was over being nearly thirty, but then he’s kissing her exactly where she wants him, where she _needs_ him.

His tongue drags roughly against her like a perfected routine, and Emma’s eyes tighten. She can’t bear to open them, but then she does and sees the dark mess of hair between the paleness of her thighs. Even more than that, she sees the blue of his eyes under the hood of his eyelid, and she wonders if today is going to be the day that this is all too much for her.

Never.

Killian shifts underneath her, his right hand leaving the curve of her knee to join with his tongue as he kisses her and kisses her and _kisses her_. Moans filter between them, hers and his, and the tension could be cut with one of the knives that’s in the drawer beneath her ass. It’s all too much - too much pleasure and want and love - and when he slips two fingers into her and curls them, she gasps out his name as a chant that never seems to stop.

“Magnificent,” he mumbles, the sound of his voice like liquid fire in her veins. “Bloody magnificent. Your noises, my darling. Fuck.”

There’s something about knowing that Killian is as affected by things like this as she is, even if he’s the one giving all of the pleasure, and that with the combination of his mouth moving over her bundle of nerves and his fingers moving within her as her falling apart little by little, like the waves cresting onto the shore.

Damn.

Killian presses a kiss to where she’s still fluttering before moving to her thigh, light touches that are nothing more than a blink, a whisper. When he rises from the ground, he grunts, probably from having his knees pressed into hardwood for so long, but she doesn’t think about that for too long when she can feel him hard against her and pressing into her thigh.

“Mmm,” Emma hums, pulling herself up and tugging Killian closer to her so that she buries her face in his neck, kissing the straining cord. “You are wonderful.”

“Ah, well, that tends to be your reaction after we do something like that.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Never.”

She chuckles while he does the same, and even without looking, she knows that his eyes are crinkled, joy written across his face.

“Do you want to move upstairs or…”

“Upstairs. Definitely upstairs.”

They move quickly, neither of them in the mood to wait, and while it would have been faster to move to the couch in the living room, this is better. Killian falls back to the bed with laughter on his lips, and Emma immediately hooks her thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down as much as she can before he lifts his hips off the bed to help her out, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor while she is busy kissing up his thigh, her hand running up his length, feeling the warm hardness in her palms.

“Emma,” Killian moans, voice gruntled. She smirks into his thigh and keeps her hand on his length.

“I am romancing you, Killian,” she promises against his lightning bolt scar before crawling up his body, peppering open mouthed kisses against the trail of his chest hair until she’s leaning over his mouth, her folds teasing him at their hips. “Like you do to me.”

“Darling - ”

“Your eyes, even blown black with desire like they are right now,” she whispers, circling her hips above him to lightly grind down, “are the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.”

She touches his face then, running her fingers over his jaw. “I love your stubble, how it’s black with a little bit of red peppered in, and I love when you don’t shave for a few days and it’s full and just the right mix of soft and prickly. I love the way it feels when you rub it against my cheek in the mornings when you’re waking me up or how it feels against the inside of my thighs.”

She kisses his jaw, running her tongue behind her lips, and the grunt Killian makes curls as little bursts of fire down her spine.

“I love,” she says, running her hands down his biceps as she sits on his lap, right below where she knows he wants her, “the strength of your arms when you hold me, no matter what the occasion. And I love,” she moves her hands through the hair at his chest as Killian twitches beneath her touch, “this hair and how it pokes through the top of all of your shirts. I love the ways that your eyes crinkle when you’re truly smiling.”

_I love that you love me enough to want to marry me_ , she thinks to herself before saying. “I love that you fight for me every day no matter the circumstances.”

She rises on her legs and scoots forward, guiding him to her entrance before slowly, slowly, _slowly_ sinking down onto him. It’s a perfect fit. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, and Killian’s hands grapple for her hips, nails digging into skin. She doesn’t think he’s ever been this quiet for such a long period of time during sex.

“And mostly, at least for our purposes right now, what I love is the feeling of you inside me, thick and full and perfect.”

At that, she starts to move, rolling her hips against him, and it feels so goddamn good that her brief stint as the verbose one in the relationship has ended and Killian is the one to start muttering words of encouragement and curses that would have anyone blushing.

She sets a slow, unhurried pace that she knows will draw out pleasure, but Killian doesn’t let her do that for long before he takes control of their movements, speeding up the pace as he thrusts up into her. She lets out a whimper as he hits the exact right spot, and Killian captures the next one with his mouth, kissing her like a man starved of affection and like it’s not ten in the morning.

Suddenly, Killian grabs her hips and rolls them over to change their position, his body encasing hers. He mutters a “bloody fuck” when she clenches her thighs to try to keep him from slipping out, and Emma throws her head back with laughter even if she shouldn’t.

Killian nips at her neck, but she can feel his smile too.

He must be able to tell that she’s getting close, rising higher and higher to her peak, because he releases her hips to grab her wrists, sliding his hands until their fingers are interlaced above her head. He tilts his hips so that his thrusts catch her clit. Her breath hitches and her legs wrap around his backside, and Emma might actually melt. She thinks that she has. Her limbs are all jelly, and Killian isn’t much better above her.

This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

There are a million things they should probably do today, but they never seem to move away from bed besides getting food from the kitchen. That’s what she’d been trying to do this morning when Killian distracted her, but she’s not going to complain. This is good and nice and Emma could wrap herself in these blankets and in Killian for the rest of time.

When she wakes later, it’s to the slap of a hand to her skin, and Emma immediately flinches and jolts up, blinking into the darkness.

“Ow, shit, Killian. What was that for?”

“I was just making sure you’re here,” he mumbles, voice groggy.

“By slapping me?”

“Killian,” a voice says, and Emma realizes that Killian is on the phone. He might not even realize he’s on the phone. “Killian are you there? “Killian, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

Liam. He’s talking to Liam.

Holy shit. Why is Liam calling him in the middle of the night?

“I’ll be honest, no. I’m still mostly asleep.”

“Asleep my ass,” Emma mumbles before reaching over to put the call on speaker phone so she doesn’t have to keep straining her ears to hear him. Killian grumbles something, but she ignores him as she settles herself underneath his arm. “Liam, what’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

“Elsa is in labor, and we sent all of our nannies home for the night. Can the two of you watch Alex for us?”

“Of course,” Emma sighs. “Bring him over when you guys leave, okay?”

“I will, lass. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Killian promises, finally waking up. “Congratulations, brother.” At that, the line goes dead, and Emma immediately moves to get out of bed only for Killian tugs her back into him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emma raises a brow and motions down to the distinct lack of clothes on both of their bodies. “I know Alex is about to have a sibling, which is definite proof of his parents having sex, but I don’t want to be the one to have to explain why his uncle was having a naked sleepover with me.”

“Really? You don’t want to explain sex to a toddler? Shocker.”

She huffs and leans forward to brush her lips over his forehead. “Congratulations on being an uncle again, babe.”

Emma hears his swallow as his head nods up and down in affirmation. “Thanks, love. Let’s go put on some clothes so we don’t scar the lad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The NEXT chapter is the last "real" chapter, which is just absolutely insane. Thank you all for coming along for this ride and leaving me such kind, passionate, and sometimes angry (lol) comments and messages. It's been so fun!
> 
> And yes, for my readers of the original who got to see the frankly ridiculous 15-chapter epilogue (it was really a sequel, as I had only intended it to be three parts, but it grew), I did include a two part epilogue to this to honor that. lol.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**November 10th, 2018**

Elsa gives birth to a girl.

It happens quickly, a quarter past five on the morning on November tenth, and the text wakes Killian from his slumber to find a picture of Elsa holding a small, red-faced child named Elizabeth.

Princess Elizabeth Amelia Zara Jones.

_Lizzie._

“She’s beautiful,” Emma whispers over Alex’s head as his small limbs kick into Killian’s stomach like they’ve been doing since he was dropped off last night by frenzied parents.

“She looks demonic right now.”

“Stop,” Emma hisses with a roll of her eyes. “All babies are the most gorgeous creatures on the planet. You’re not supposed to point out that they can look demonic and be unattractive.”

“If it’s not my child and I’m not saying it to the parents, I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“And if it is your child?”

Killian reaches his hand over to tug on Emma’s waist, pulling her closer to him so that her freezing feet tuck between his calves and they won’t wake Alex with their whispering. “Now, Swan, we’ve talked about this. We’re just practicing with our naked sleepovers. No babies are going to be involved.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Not right now,” Emma huffs, but he can see her smile. “Can you believe Elsa and Liam have another baby?”

“Aye. Known it would be happening for awhile now. Elsa’s ever burgeoning stomach gave me a few clues.”

If she didn’t have a toddler between the two of them, he knows that she’d slap his shoulder over his cheekiness and maybe a little bit to get back at him for accidentally slapping her earlier. Instead she reaches across Alex and cups Killian’s cheek, thumb running across the bone.

“Do you remember the night you told me Elsa was pregnant again?”

He does. He remembers how distraught he was over thoughts of this child growing up in the same way he had. He’d shown up at the pub a complete mess and tried to get Emma into bed instead of talking through what was bothering him. But she’d known him so well, _knows_ _him so well_ , and made him talk about what was bothering him instead of drowning himself in her and in alcohol.

That was only six months ago, and his world has flipped on its head several times since. It’s so much that he barely knows what to do with any of it. Really, all he knows is that he’ll never have to worry about Liam treating Lizzie in a different way than how he treats Alex. Brennan will never understand or realize how awful he is and how backward his mindset can be, but that won’t truly matter. Not when Alex and Lizzie have incredible parents who aren’t going to fall into the trap that this family seems to keep falling for.

Not when they’re going to change everything about this family so that future generations will never go through what they’ve been through.

Emma. All of this is because of Emma.

She’s changed his world.

(And is changing a monarchy.)

“Yes,” Killian whispers back to her.

“So much has changed since then. Everything really. You and your family are an actual family, babe. A family with issues and that one awful relative that we’ll pretend doesn’t exist, but there’s also so much love. It’s amazing.”

“It’s all because of you, Emma.”

She laughs, so quiet so as not to disturb Alex in this hushed conversation, and he knows she’s going to brush it all off.

“I mean, I was at the root of some knock down drag out fights, so I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

“Killian, if the relationship you have with Liam is better, that’s all you. You fought for what you deserved, no matter how hard it was, and I’d like to think that you’ve got a winning strategy.”

Except for with his father…

But no matter, this woman next to him with red pillow crease lines on her cheeks and tangles in his hair continues to change his life, and if it wasn’t for Alex between them and the day he knows he has ahead of him, Killian would get the engagement ring out of his shoe in the closet and ask her to marry him right now.

Having that ring made while they were broken up was the most idiotic idea, but he thinks much like Emma and her lightning bolt tattoo, a part of him knew that it would all be okay.

Best stupid decision he’s ever made.

“I love you. I think I might love you too much”

And it’s true. As sentimental and slightly vomit-inducing as it might be to some, he does love her so much that his chest pangs.

He loves her not simply because she is beautiful and a light in his life who makes him laugh even when he doesn’t know how anymore. He loves her for the way that she enjoys watching stand-up comedy even when it’s bad and stops her runs to dance along to the music playing through her speakers. He loves that she is kind to others and compassionate about those who she cares for, and he loves the energy she brings to her own life. He loves her not for what she does for him but for who she is. She’s Emma, a mess of good and bad qualities.

She’s brilliant in a multitude of ways.

And she’s here and not going anywhere. He’s not going anywhere either. It’s a constant reminder between the two of them, something they both need to hear, but Killian knows deep in his belly that they’re not going to go through another separation again.

Will they have other shit to deal with? Of course. But they’re doing it together.

“Not possible,” Emma murmurs before kissing his nose. “I love you, too. I’m glad you won’t call our babies ugly even if you think they are.”

Killian laughs loud enough this time that Alex stirs between them and groggily opens his blue eyes, looking between he and Emma. He stretches his arms above his head and kicks Killian’s stomach before turning into Emma and wrapping himself into Emma like the little traitor he is.

“Emmy,” he giggles, pressing wet kisses over Emma’s face. “Emmy is here.”

“Yeah, buddy, I am. How do you feel about going to take a bath? You and Killian need one before we go visit your new sister.”

“Noooo.”

“Yes,” Emma confirms, squeezing onto Alex and scrunching up her nose. “Especially Killian. He’s smelly.”

“Oi,” Killian scoffs. Every kind thought he had about this woman has disappeared in that exact moment, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. It’s been a good morning. A good few weeks really. “I’ll have you know I bathe quite frequently thank you very much.”

“Then you’ll have no problem taking a bath right now.”

-/-

Emma is visibly nervous when they arrive at the hospital and are surrounded by people, fans and photographers alike. Her leg tapping up and down is shaking the entire car, but she doesn’t say anything in protest to getting out. When he asks if she wants to stay inside, she shakes her head and turns in the backseat to unbuckle Alex from his car seat before exiting the car to a loud clamor of voices.

The press have a field day seeing Alex walking into the hospital holding Emma’s hand, all of them calling out questions and trying to get Alex to pose or wave for the cameras. When Emma picks him up, resting him on her hip and telling him to wave, he happily complies as long as Emma waves with him.

Good. That’s a good start.

As they’re nearing the stairs a photographer yells out, “Emma, why is Prince Alexander walking with you and not Killian?”

Killian thinks Emma won’t answer. Her relationship with the press is abysmal as best. It was like that before the accident, but ever since, she’s hated them even more. He has too. All of the ones here today may be here to celebrate the birth of a new member of his family and may not mean any harm, but it’s easy to clump them all into one category.

They could have killed the woman he loves all over a picture, and Killian will never forgive anyone for that – not the press, not August Booth, no matter any of their motivations. If the three of them were able to go inside today in a different entrance, there would be no question as to how they would enter the hospital. At least no one is asking about the bloody breakup. That’s been a constant topic every time he’s stepped out into public lately.

Small wins and all.

“To tell you the truth,” Emma begins, shifting Alex on her hip. She’s talking to the people, the ones who aren’t holding professional cameras and microphones, and that makes a bit more sense to Killian. “Alexander here is always telling me that he loves his Emmy more than he loves his Uncle Killian because I know where we keep the good cookies…I mean, biscuits. Still getting used to the change in vernacular no matter how long I’ve lived here. That one will always throw me off.”

“Biscuits,” Alex joins in, raising his hands in the air and then rubbing his belly, causing the reporters and the crowd to roar in their laughter.

“Killian can’t give them to him because we hide the biscuits from him. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, you know.”

“Well, that’s why I love you, darling,” Killian teases. “Because you’re so sweet.”

“He’s also apparently got a thing for cheese,” she tells the crowd, throwing a wink at him. And he should have known that she would tease him when given the opportunity. Her heart has to be hammering in her discomfort, but she’s trying her best to be a part of his world.

There are parts of him that are still so fucking livid that he doesn’t know how to function seeing the flashes and hearing the clicks of the cameras, but he knows that he can’t do anything about it. At least not now. Right now all he has to worry about is making sure that Emma and Alex are safe.

Killian leans down to give her a quick peck, making Alex cover his eyes with his hands like he does nearly every time, and he can hear the laughter mixed in with the clicks of the shutters on the cameras. Some will be mad that Emma came with him to the hospital, but those without a stick up their ass will see the moment as a simple every day, family moment. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and if they have something to say, every press privilege for an official will be revoked in the snap of his fingers. He’s glad she’s here. Always.

After making a few more pleasantries and waving goodbye, the three of them are ushered inside by Graham, who is almost scarily professional while working. The man is an old friend and Ruby’s boyfriend, but no one would ever know that for the job he does.

Good.

They can be mates at dinner or when he’s off duty. For now, Killian wants the assured protection for his loved ones.

“My boy,” Liam greets once they’re in the maternity ward and away from most prying eyes. “I have missed you.”

“Papa,” Alex squeals, squirming out of Emma’s arms to run to his dad and be swooped up into his arms for a bracing hug. “Emmy gave me biscuit.”

“For breakfast? That’s nutritional.”

Emma huffs and crosses her arms over her chest even as Liam walks toward her and brushes his lips over her cheek. “He had oatmeal for breakfast. We just happened to be talking about biscuits outside. How’s Elsa?”

“Tired, happy, wonderful,” Liam laughs with genuine joy, eyes reddened from lack of sleep and tears of joy. “She just woke up from a nap to feed Lizzie, and I know she’s chuffed to see you all.” Liam turns his attention to Alex now. “Are you ready to meet your new sister?”

“She’s here?” Alex gasps. “Not in tummy?”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. They went over this on the ride here and this morning, but the concept might be too big for a toddler to understand.

“She’s here, Alex, and I know that Mummy is ready to see you again. She’s missed you.”

Liam starts to walk away, Killian walking with him, but then he notices that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot, and Killian makes some half-assed excuse about letting Liam take Alex to see the lad first and that they’ll join them later.

“Hey,” he says to Emma, cocking his head to the side, “what are you doing? Don’t you want to go see Elsa and Lizzie?”

“I just...I need a moment.”

Killian arches a brow, but she doesn’t see it. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, her chest visibly heaving.

“Tomorrow or in a few hours or at some point in time,” Emma whispers, eyes still closed, “Elsa is going to walk out that door in heels and a pretty dress with a newborn in her arms and be photographed within an inch of her life. She’s still going to be wearing a damn diaper under a five-thousand-dollar dress, and I...I…shit. The people don’t scare me, but the press does. I flinch at the sounds of the cameras, am constantly worried that someone else is going to chase me or want something from me and I - ”

Emma opens her eyes, the green watery. He’s got no idea what’s happening, and he feels like he should.

He knew she was nervous when they were in the car, that it was a big deal for her to come with them today, but he foolishly thought she’d made it through the experience unscathed.

“I know that it’s an adjustment,” she continues, “and I’m only just learning, but I...if we have kids, I don’t want them on display like that. I don’t want myself on display. I don’t want to disrespect your customs and traditions, but I also want to respect myself and our kids. They shouldn’t have to be terrified of the click of a camera like I am right now.”

“Emma - ”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, wiping her eyes. “I really am. That was just a lot outside, and I’m tired and I wanted to let you know how I’m feeling because that’s something we’re working on. I - ”

Killian steps forward and tucks her hair behind her ears, swiping his thumb across her cheeks to wipe away the little flecks of mascara. “It’s a process, my love, and if you think I’m not still fucking angry over what happened to you, you’re wrong. I’m livid. It’s not going to be something either of us get over in a blink of an eye or possibly ever, but I will do everything in my power to protect you and these hypothetical children and dogs or cats or even lizards.”

“Lizards?”

“They’ll get their own security guard too.” Emma laughs and leans forward into him until her face is buried in his shoulder. “I’d go to the end of the world for you. Every damn day.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I try.” Killian rubs his hand over her back and kisses the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing what was going through that head of yours.”

“Thank you for not making me feel like I’m crazy.”

“I’ve given you a pass on that for today.” Emma huffs into his shoulder, and he kisses her hair again. “Are you ready to go into the hospital room now or do you need more time?”

“I think I can handle going to see that ugly baby you were talking about earlier.”

“Please don’t tell them I said that. I did not call Lizzie ugly.”

“It was implied.”

Emma gasps when Killian lightly taps her ass, but he doesn’t get to see the look on her face since he’s quickly walking ahead of her toward Elsa’s hospital room. She catches up, slapping his shoulder before hooking her arm around his and holding onto his elbow.

When they walk into the hospital room, Elsa is sitting in the bed wrapped up in a robe with her hair in a bun, and she’s holding both Lizzie and Alex while Liam sits at the edge and quietly talks to all of them. Killian feels like they’re intruding on a moment, like this isn’t meant for him and Emma.

His brother is a good but broken man, and Killian is happy for him. For all of them.

“They look so happy,” Emma whispers in his ear before placing her head on his shoulder.

“Aye,” he agrees. “I think they are.”

“Would either of you like to hold her?” Elsa asks them, waving them into the room even though Killian thinks they might need to slink away to give them privacy.

“Can I?” Emma asks, voice small as if she wasn’t just directly asked.

“Of course you can,” Elsa answers, motioning for Emma to come closer. She carefully hands Elizabeth over to Emma, the both of them cradling Lizzie’s head. “She’s wavering in and out of sleep.”

“Oh, she’s so beautiful, Elsa,” Emma compliments, running her finger over the covered swaddle of Elizabeth, before tacking on, “and Liam. I guess you possibly had something to do with this, though I think she’s likely to get all of her good looks from other members of the family.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs at Emma’s tease, white teeth flashing in an exuberant smile that Killian has rarely seen in his life.

Well, he’s seen it lately. A lot actually. But he’s not accustomed to any of this yet.

His brother is his friend and is capable of joking with Emma. It’s pretty much some kind of miracle even if he knows it’s through a hell of a lot of hard work and tough conversations.

If he looks back too quickly, Killian will get whiplash.

“I think that sounds about right,” Liam chuckles, moving over to stand next to Killian and throwing his arm over Killian’s shoulder. “You best hope your children get their looks from you and not this one here.”

Emma’s face flushes red, but she doesn’t say anything back, just shoots Killian a timid smile and mouths “he’s right” to Killian. She throws in a wink just for extra emphasis. Killian is hit with a sense of _want_ – want to have children, want to have those children with Emma, and want for those children to look just like her – that he has to stifle, just winking right back in response.

They’re not ready. They can talk all about future plans and wants for that time, but they’re not ready. They’re still so young, and they have all of the time in the world to figure things out. They’ve just gotten back, and he doesn’t want to rush anything.

But it’s undeniable how incredibly, stupidly jealous he feels of Liam for getting all of this.

Is it possible to be genuinely thrilled for someone and jealous all the same?

Elizabeth starts fussing in Emma’s arm, a slow cry that’s only going to get bigger, and he watches Emma hand the baby back to Elsa and sit down on the bed to talk to Alex, who is absolutely enraptured with his sister. Killian wonders just how long that’s going to last before Alex is absolutely cross with all of the attention Lizzie will be getting.

“She’s doing so well,” Liam says suddenly, arm falling from Killian’s shoulder.

“Elsa? Yeah, she seems to be doing great, the tough lass she is. I’ve never quite understood how women are able to give birth.”

Liam just chuckles, shaking his head. “Brother, when a man loves a woman - ”

Killian gently slaps his brother’s shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. I can’t quite understand it myself. I think they might be magical. And Elsa is incredible, bloody amazing really. I’m forever in awe of her. It’s just that I was talking about Emma. It takes a strong woman to stay with the two of us despite our lives, and we’ve found some of the good ones. I’m sorry for everything before. I can’t say that enough.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to deal with hearing everything he’s ever wanted to hear from his brother yet again, so he redirects the conversation. “So a little lass, huh?”

“I’m already out of my league.”

“You’ve been batting out of your league for your entire life, brother.”

Liam barks out another laugh. “Was that a baseball term? Have you ever seen a baseball game?”

“I’m dating an American whose father is obsessed with baseball, so I think you can fill in the blanks.”

Killian doesn’t want to intrude on Liam and Elsa, knowing just how exhausted Elsa has to be and how special this time is, but then Liam is asking if Killian and Emma would like to stay with her while he takes Alex home to be with his nanny and to keep his schedule from deviating too much. They insist that they can watch him for the day, but Liam and Elsa both would rather him be home and don’t want to burden the two of them.

It’s not a burden at all.

But that’s how Killian ends up holding Lizzie as she sleeps, little sputtering noises escaping her lips. She doesn’t at all look like a little red demon now, and he was wrong to have said that earlier. He thinks they’ll be rather good mates.

“I think she likes you,” Emma whispers, trying not to wake Lizzie or Elsa.

“Well, I’ve been told that the hair all over my body makes me comfortable to sleep on.”

“Whoever said that is brilliant.”

“Aye, I think so.”

“Do you think we should put her in the bassinet?”

“I’m scared that if I move it’ll disturb her.”

“It won’t,” Elsa mumbles, still mostly asleep.

He and Emma both quietly snicker, and carefully, Killian stands from the couch and walks to the small rolling bassinet, placing Lizzie down. She doesn’t startle or wake up, and he takes it as a win.

“I’m going to go get some tea or coffee, love. Do you want something?”

“Coffee. See if you can charm a nurse to get you the good stuff instead of the ones at those stations outside.”

Killian winks. “I’ll try.”

When he walks outside the hospital room door, he nods his head in acknowledgment to Elsa’s security and his own, telling Graham that he’s going in search for coffee, and Graham directs him to a small coffee and tea station around the corner. It’s exactly the bitter stuff he didn’t want, but since he doesn’t see any nurses or doctors to charm into letting him use the good pots in their lounges, this will likely have to do.

He got so little sleep last night that he’ll take anything with caffeine to bring a little life back into his eyes and his body.

Just as Emma’s disposable cup is filling with bitter coffee he knows she won’t drink without copious amounts of creamer, there’s the sound of doors opening and the loud clatter of footsteps moving down the hall.

It’s his parents and their security.

Shit.

He didn’t think they’d come for a few more hours.

“Killian,” Allison blushes, her smile growing in size as she scurries through the hallway to embrace him, her frame so small in his. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Aye, Emma and I brought Alexander to see his sister and mum a few hours ago and have been keeping Elsa company while Liam takes Alex home.”

“Well, that is a wonderful surprise. We knew Alex and Liam had gone home for a bit, but I didn’t know you were here. I can’t wait to see my new grandchild.”

Killian pats his mum’s back before pulling back and kissing her cheek. “She can’t wait to see you. Why don’t you go on to the room? I want to speak to Dad for a moment.” Allison raises her brows. “I’ll be fine. Go meet your new granddaughter.”

Allison nods and steps away from him, and Brennan begins to do the same until Killian places his hand on his chest and keeps him from walking down the hallway.

“Do you need something?”

Killian swallows and sets his shoulders back before directly looking in his father’s eyes, ones he’s never seen show kindness to him, ones he doesn’t expect to.

At this point, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need that. He’s not looking for the approval of this man.

“I’m going to say this one last time,” Killian begins, clenching his jaw to keep himself as steady as possible, “and if you don’t listen, I will go through with every word I’ve ever said about exposing you and ruining that pretty image you like to keep up.”

Brennan’s jaw clenches, but his age shows on his face instead of his anger. “You’re my son. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“There are hundreds of people out there, each of them with a camera on their phone. That doesn’t even take into account the news outlets. In less than two minutes, I can ruin you. Do you understand that?”

Brennan blinks and looks away before turning back to face Killian, no emotion on his face. It must be from years of practicing or possibly years of uncaring. “Go on then.”

“I’m marrying Emma. I don’t know when, but I am. When that time comes, you will sign every necessary piece of paper and approve every detail of the wedding. You will lie and say that you’re happy for me because it’s good for your image, and you will not fight with us behind the scenes. You don’t have to like me or Emma, but you will not continue to cut her down. I won’t let you, Liam won’t let you, and I can guarantee that Mum won’t have it anymore.”

“Anything else you’d like to command of me today or are you done asking for things I don’t have to grant you?”

Bastard.

His father is a bastard, but Killian is in this now. He’s not backing out now.

He’s not losing Emma again.

“Emma will get a full team of security protection under your personal pay until we’re married and she can legally have the same arrangements as the rest of us, you’ll agree to cut off any press from official events if they try to slander or attack her again, and you will release statements to have her protected so she doesn’t almost fucking die again. She could have died because people wanted a picture of her, and I will not stand for that again. These aren’t negotiations. These are demands. Any kind of protection Elsa has, Emma will have as well, whether we’re married or not.”

“How do you - ”

“No negotiations,” Killian repeats, refusing to back away from his father. “I’m happy to help set all of this in motion for you if you need me to. I’ve been working on a few things. I’ll send them to your office tomorrow.”

When Brennan doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move from his sport, Killian raises his brows and inches closer. “Do you understand? Stepping out of line will have repercussions for you, and threatening me will do you no good. I’m willing to step away from the cushions of this life. I’m not dependent on the coin purse and the good publicity. You are.”

“None of this is going to be pretty for you. The public will continue to despise her and think that everything she does is wrong. Every misstep will be magnified, and your popularity will plummet.”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head. This man is never going to get it. “The beauty of the whole thing is that I don’t fucking care about any of that. I am going to choose Emma every time. I’ve never loved this lifestyle or craved the approval of the press like you. I’ve never wanted any of this. I respect the history of our family, and I can guarantee that Emma and I will do our best to honor that. However, we’re forging our own path with our own family, and if I end up having to leave this family later for Emma’s well-being, there won’t be a second thought to it. Now go greet your new granddaughter. I hope she never has to know what a bastard you are.”

Brennan nods his head before quickly stepping away and storming down the hallway, the swinging doors quickly closing behind him with his security following after him. Killian needs a moment to breathe, to calm himself, because there’s a pretty good chance he could vomit right now.

That has to work.

That has to be the final time. That has to be the nail in the coffin and the thing that gets them moving forward. He can’t move backwards. He can’t.

They can’t.

Moving forward and moving on to something real and concrete is what he needs, what Emma needs too, and that has to work. Getting knocked down on his ass again isn’t an option.

Emma getting hurt again isn’t an option.

May his father have one modicum of decency. Or really, may he be so damn scared of losing public favor that he complies. That’s Killian’s ace up his sleeve, and God, he hopes it works.

(It’s going to.)

“You having trouble working the coffee machine?”

Killian huffs and turns his head to look down the hallway to see Emma walking toward him. “No, I think I’ve got it figured out, but I believe the coffee I made for you may be cold by now.”

“Guess you’ll have to make me a new one then.”

“Guess I will.” Killian opens his arms, and Emma walks right into them until she’s nuzzled into his chest and his chin is resting on her head. “Did you see my Father?”

“I did.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“There was a slight nod.”

“Of course,” Killian scoffs, rubbing his hands up and down her back as she does the same to him. “I just gave him an ultimatum, finally, and God, Emma, I hope that it works.”

“Me too. We’re going to be okay. I don’t know how, exactly...I just know, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head, I know that too.”

They only linger in the hallways long enough to fix one new cup of coffee before a nurse rounds the corner and offers to take them to the lounge where they have the good coffee and tea. He didn’t even have to charm someone to get the stuff that wasn’t going to be acid in his stomach, and he’s thankful for small miracles.

He’s also thankful for Emma. She has every right to be angry or closed off or even nervous as hell when they go back to the hospital room where his parents are. She’s not making some herculean effort to make conversation with his dad, but she’s also not letting him push her into a corner where she can’t enjoy being around people she loves.

Killian’s been learning to do that his entire life. Emma has nearly perfected it in a few months.

Emma nudges his shoulder, and he looks down to see a napkin in his lap. God, he’s missed passing napkin scribblings back and forth with each other. He’s got a box full of them somewhere in his apartment.

_Your mom has been looking over at us with “please fuck and give me grandchildren” eyes for the past ten minutes._

He snickers and leans in to whisper in Emma’s ear. “I’m sure there’s somewhere around her where we could get that done.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re the one who said my mum was thinking about us fucking.” Killian brushes his lips over the shell of Emma’s ear, flicking his tongue so that goosebumps rise over her skin. “Would you like to go home now?”

“I would.”

Killian tucks the napkin in his back pocket and stands from the couch, holding his hand out to Emma behind him. They say their goodbyes, both of them kissing Elsa’s cheeks and running their finger over Lizzie’s stomach, before telling his mum not to hog the baby for too long. It takes far longer than it should for them to take their leave, but eventually they’re walking back to the entrance of the hospital with Graham in front of them.

“Every time this door opens for the next two days, all of these people are going to think it’s Elsa stepping out. There’s going to be shouting and photographers. Can you handle that?”

“I know,” Emma tells him. “And I can.”

Emma threads her fingers between his, her palm as warm and soft as always, Killian sucks in a deep breath, and he hears Emma do the same. “You ready to go, my love?”

She squeezes his hand, the tightness lingering a second too long, and answers, “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and...finished. Whew. 
> 
> Okay, so kind of finished. That was the last "official" chapter, but there is a two-part epilogue coming at you guys in honor of the original and because, you know, I've got to show a little of the future 😘
> 
> Thank you all for your kindness! I hope you've enjoyed this story!


	14. Epilogue - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the first part of the epilogue, lovelies ❤️

**December 2020**

Emma’s in a white dress made of ornate lace and the most intricate beading work she’s ever seen. The material hugs her body, accentuating the curve of her waist and falling to her wrists where they stop so that the rings on her hands are visible. There are three now, two on the left hand and one on the right. Her hair is falling down her back in long, perfectly curled waves, and half of it is pinned back with a diamond barrette that almost perfectly matches the tiara gracing the top of her head. A veil is attached to it, and it wraps around her body and all the way down to the ground, the lace surrounding the edges of it.

_She’s wearing a tiara._

Like, a tiara worth hundreds of thousands of dollars that she wore on top of her head for hours.

It was a year and a half ago and she’s worn plenty of nice jewelry since, but there’s something about looking at the pictures hanging in their hallway that still makes Emma stop in her tracks to stare at them.

It’s the nice clothes at first, her wedding dress and Killian’s black Naval uniform that he looked so handsome in, but then it’s the smiles on their faces, the true happiness written into their lips. Their foreheads are pressed together in this one, and while their lips aren’t touching, they nearly are. Killian’s eyes are crinkled, the lines prominent, and Emma remembers him telling her some awful dirty joke that had the photographer blushing and Emma laughing until tears were flowing from her eyes.

(They’d had to touch up her makeup, and it took forever because she couldn’t seem to stop laughing at her husband.)

Their wedding was on a sunny day at the beginning of June, and most of it was a blur. Emma’s stomach was in knots for the majority of the day, not because she was nervous about getting married. It was more over having to be in front of hundreds of people in the Chapel and millions more on television, as well as having to spend half of her day with Brennan. Thankfully, he stayed away from them as much as he could, seemingly respecting them enough to let them have their day without his disapproval and overall shitty attitude. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever done for her, letting her have that day.

It was a great day.

“Who the hell is that handsome bastard in the portrait you’re staring at, darling?”

Emma huffs and turns to look at Killian only for him to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, tugging her back into him before laying sloppy kisses all across her jaw and down her neck that has her stomach flipping. He’s always doing that.

  
  
“You’re so conceited.”

“Confident.”

“Eh.”

He nips at her ear, and she sighs back into him, letting heat simmer in her belly even if she knows that they can’t do anything about it right now. They don’t have time.

“You have to learn that my confidence is warranted. How could it not be when my wife makes noises like you just made when I barely brush my lips over her jaw?”

“I’m not helping your ego grow by answering that.”

Killian rolls his hips into hers, grinding into her ass, all while kissing her ear again, lavishing the sensitive spot that causes her flesh to pebble, and she just knows that he has a dumb joke in his brain about making something else grow. He’s thirty-one years old, and the amount of erection jokes that he makes is ridiculous. Granted, ninety percent of the time she wants to hear them, but that’s entirely beside the point.

“Killian,” she moans when his tongue licks along the shell of her ear while his fingers ghost over her stomach and up toward the underside of her breast, “we don’t have t-time. We’ve got to go to Sandringham in fifteen minutes. The car is scheduled to take us to the train station.”

“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time.”

“I haven’t finished packing.”

“I suppose you’ll simply have to walk around in the nude since kissing you is the only thing I can think of doing at this moment.”

Emma laughs, but then she’s turning her head to kiss him. Their lips collide together softly, and Emma twists her body until her hands are grabbing onto the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to him. His mouth is warm against hers, and it sends another thrill down her spine, curling around each inch of her. His erection is hotly pressing into her thigh through his jeans, and she feels it even more when Killian backs her up to the wall behind them. When she parts her lips for him, his tongue quickly flickers into her mouth, she follows his lead, eager to feel him in every way that she can.

It’s been eight years of this, eight years of her entire body thrumming and of Emma wanting him, and while there are days that it wanes and days where just looking at his face annoys her, it’s mostly like this.

Loving him is the easiest decision she’s ever made.

Choosing to be with him despite all of the insane highs and deep lows is the best choice she’s ever made.

Killian’s a good one. No, the best one.

(And she’s not biased at all.)

She grinds into him and groans against his mouth when he hits a particularly good spot, and in the haze of his fervent kisses, she reaches down between them until she’s fumbling with the button on his jeans and popping it open all the while Killian mutters filthy curses into her mouth.

“What happened to not having time?”

“Shut up.”

“I love it when you speak to me like that.”

“You are - ”

He doesn’t let her finish, not when his lips are slamming back into hers, and he’s kissing her so deeply that Emma can’t breathe or think or even focus on anything other than the feel and smell of Killian and the way his fingers are tugging her leggings down until the warm air of the apartment is hitting against her skin.

“God, I love you,” Killian murmurs into her jaw while his hands hook under her ass and urge her to wrap her legs around his waist.

“What are you doing? Are you seriously trying to show off athletic prowess right now?”

His hands squeeze on her ass, and he feels her smirking into her skin. The bastard.

“Absolutely, I am. I can’t wait to be sore tomorrow.”

Emma’s head tilts back with her laughter even as Killian slowly enters hers, stretching her the slightest bit while her arms tighten around his neck and her legs curl even further around his waist. He better not drop her. One time he did, and they should really find a couch or something. They’ve got at least fifteen in this damn place.

But then it just feels too damn good just like this. It’s hard and fast, their bodies completely pressed together, and all of Emma’s thoughts are blurred and mixed in with Killian’s muttered curses and her harsh pants and then their mouths finding each other once more. They’re close enough that Emma’s on edge already, each of his thrusts brushing her exactly where she needs him, and her eyes squeeze more tightly shut when she begins to fall, letting Killian’s encouragements guide her until she’s there.

Damn, Jones.

He must finish quickly afterwards, his legs nearly collapsing so that the both of them fall to the ground, but he manages to keep hold of them, supporting her.

“Thanks for not dropping me on my ass.” Killian huffs into her neck at her words, and she feels him loosen his grip on her so that she’s tightening her legs and gasping as he tries to drop her. “That’s not funny!”

“I found it funny.”

“How is dropping me to the ground funny? Aren’t you supposed to love me and cherish me or whatever?”

He leaves a warm, open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck before pulling back so that she can see the ridiculous blue of his eyes. She’ll never quite get over them. “I do love you, which is why I haven’t asked you to get down yet even though my legs feel rather flimsy right now.”

Emma kisses the top of his head before unwrapping her legs and slowly falling to the ground, her own legs shaky. “I love you, too. We should probably go clean ourselves up and pretend that we weren’t just fucking five minutes before we got in the car to go to your family’s Christmas celebrations.”

“‘Tis the season and all.” Killian kisses her again, this time slow and unbelievably soft. Those are always her favorite. “Thanks for marrying me, darling. You’re just as beautiful today as you are in all of these pictures.”

“I’m not currently wearing pants.”  
  


“That’s the way I like you.”

He’s an idiot...who she loves so damn much.

-/-

Celebrating Christmas with Killian’s family is weird.

There’s really no other way for her to describe it. For one, they spend at least five days having to circle around Brennan, which is hard enough as it is. He’s never going to approve of her and never going to love Killian the way a dad should, but at least he isn’t outwardly hostile to them anymore. It’s more of a quiet simmer with subtle rude comments that are made when Allison is out of earshot, and as awkward and uncomfortable as it is, Emma will take it. This is how it is, and there’s so much more to Killian’s family than his dad.

Allison, for one, is the sweetest woman alive who tries to make up for all of her husband’s downfalls (Emma still thinks she should divorce Brennan, but she knows it won’t ever happen. Appearances and all that. It’s also none of Emma’s business), and she’s taken Emma under her wing in the past two years, teaching her everything there is to know about royal life even though Killian and Emma both decided to not be as prominent as Liam and Elsa. They still work, are nearly always out and about working with some kind of charity they’re passionate about, but they’re not into all of the frills and the publicity.

Her accident still haunts her, the attacks of the media that occur every day following right behind, and it’s the reason they’re having a house built in Bucklebury so that they can have some privacy away from all of the business of living in Kensington. Emma’s doing her best, but she does not accept having to stop caring for her own life and her own wants simply because of who her husband’s family is. 

It’s still so odd, Emma thinks. She fell in love with this wonderful, normal guy, and now she’s wandering around on an estate in formal wear to celebrate Christmas instead of lounging around in her pajamas eating junk food with her parents.

Her parents who are never invited to come for the holiday celebrations and who she misses dearly and will be going to see on the night of the twenty-fifth.

But besides having to spend time with Brennan, Emma also has to spend time with all of Killian’s cousins and aunts and uncles who she can never remember the names of despite her best efforts, and follow even more insane rules about what to wear and what silverware to use and what kind of presents to give. Killian held her hand throughout this entire week last year to help her learn, and he’s having to do the same this year. Though, she’s better at it now. She’s not a total fumbling fool.

Just a little one.

But she does know to always find Killian or Liam and Elsa, and if all else fails, she can spend time with Alex and Lizzie and be completely and totally charmed by their adorableness. Seriously. Emma thinks they might be the cutest kids alive, and she’s not biased at all because she’s their aunt. Alex is somehow four now even though she swears he was just two, and he’s the funniest child Emma has ever met. Lizzie is much quieter, more of an observer than anything else, but whenever she sees Emma, she runs to her and stretches her arms out so that Emma can scoop her up into Emma’s arms.

It absolutely makes Emma’s heart swell.

“Darling,” Killian calls out to her, and Emma’s head twists around to see Killian standing across the dining room from her in his tux, “would you come here for a moment?”

Emma turns back to the cousin - Rachel, she thinks - she was just talking to and excuses herself from the conversation to walk toward Killian, who is undeniably saving her before she got swooped away to talk to someone else.

“Thank you,” she whispers into Killian’s ear once she’s close enough, pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw and leaving a mark of red lipstick.

He kisses her temple and lazily loops his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Darling, I was just telling Liam that you were going to be on my football team tomorrow, and that he can’t draft you for his team first.”

Emma tilts her head and looks at Liam and Elsa. “Isn’t it Liam’s turn to have first pick? You had it last year.”

“Liam gave it to me last year,” Killian says, his eyes pointed at Liam, “even though it was his year. This year is technically still my year.”

“Rubbish. When I gave you first pick it was a gift because you were a newlywed, but we’re still supposed to switch off years.”

“No, this is still my year. Last year was a gift, and I did not agree to give up my pick.”

“I’ve just said that it’s not!”

Elsa rolls her eyes, and Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth to bite. Seeing the boys be friends is never not refreshing, but it’s also obnoxious. They bicker all of the time in this friendly but obnoxious way, and if Elsa and Emma were to walk away, neither of them would notice.

“Babe,” Emma laughs, rubbing her hand up and down Killian’s back, “just give Liam the first pick. He’s not going to pick me. He’ll want to pick someone who’s actually good so he can beat you.”

“She makes a good point, little brother,” Liam says.

“Younger. It’s younger, and fine, you can have the first pick.”

-/-

Liam picks her first for the football game the next day.

Killian plays the entire game with murder in his eyes even if he immediately picked Elsa so Liam couldn’t have her on his team.

All’s fair in love and annual Christmas football matches.

(She and Liam totally kick Killian’s ass.)

-/-

When Emma wakes, she rolls over and checks her phone.

_3:01 AM, December 25th, 2020._

It’s the middle of the night...or the morning, and she shouldn’t be awake. She’s got at least four more hours left of sleep, and she should not be awake. It’s been pretty much non-stop for the four days they’ve been at Sandringham, and she should be exhausted. Mostly, though, she’s hungry.

“Killian,” Emma whispers, reaching across the bed to poke his bicep. “Killian, wake up.”

He grunts and twists his head until she can see one eye open while the rest of his face is squished. “What?”

His voice is gritty and deep, and she’s really got to wake him up more if he’s going to sound like that. “How do I get to the kitchen?”

“What?”

  
  
“Where’s the kitchen?”

Killian twists again until he’s blinking at her and rubbing his hand up and down his face. “What time is it?”

  
  
“It’s three in the morning, and I’m starving. I have never figured out how to get to the kitchen in this place.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Killian grunts and rolls over, throwing the covers off of him before standing from the bed and pulling his pajamas up on his waist so they’re not hanging indecently low any longer. “Come on. I’ll take you down there.”

“You’re my favorite person in the world.”

He grunts again and starts walking away, not bothering to find a shirt or shoes, and Emma quickly follows. She’s also got to pee right now, but asking Killian to wait might not be her best option when he doesn’t seem too thrilled about her waking him up in the middle of the night. She gets it. She wouldn’t be thrilled either.

All of the hallways are dark, but Killian easily navigates them, twisting and turning and taking several different staircases until he’s pushing through a set of double doors and they’re entering an industrial kitchen that doesn’t at all mix with the rest of this house.

Emma literally has no idea how they got down here.

“What do you want to eat, love?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Nope. What do we have?” He opens the fridge, and she steps into his space until she’s looking inside as well at what looks like a hell of a lot of baked goods that they can’t eat. They’re probably for something else. “Can we eat any of this?”

“I think the baked goods are Mum’s gifts to the staff to take home to their families, but I can make you something. Do you want a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Do you even know me at all?”

Killian laughs, but then he’s reaching forward and grabbing cheese and butter and moving away from the fridge, shuffling around and getting everything that he needs. When she offers to make it herself since this was her idea and Killian doesn’t even like grilled cheese, he tells her that he’s got it if she can make him some tea. They’re probably not going to sleep again, so they might as well get some caffeine.

Caffeine and maybe some cookie dough that she found in the freezer.

(She can’t help herself.)

“You know,” Emma yawns, “I used to be up at three in the morning all the time, but now I can’t do it.”

  
  
“It’s because you’re getting old, darling.”

“Says the man who is in his thirties, meanwhile I can still say that I’m in my twenties for ten more months.”

“And then once you hit that thirty mark, you’ll officially be old.”

“I will not be old. Thirty isn’t old. That’s a social construct.”

“It’s too early in the morning to be focusing on things like that.”

“True,” Emma sighs, taking a sip of her tea while Killian plates her sandwich, sliding it over to her with a napkin. It smells freaking amazing. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s no problem. You’ll burn your mouth if you eat it right now.”

  
  
“Some things are worth the risk.”

Killian chuckles and leans forward to grab his own tea, taking a large gulp. “I wouldn’t get up at three in the morning to cook for anyone else. I hope you know that.”

“I do know that. I wouldn’t wake anyone else up to make me food at three in the morning. Though, I really only needed you to show me where the kitchen was. I didn’t need you to cook.”

“It’s not a problem. You’re suffering through Christmas with my family for the second year in a row. This is literally the least I can do.”

Emma finishes chewing her bite before leaning forward over the counter to press her lips into Killian’s. “I’m happy to do most everything that I have to do as your wife. It’s weird and definitely not how I ever imagined my life, but I wear a hell of a lot of Spanx for you. That’s true love.”

His eyes crinkle, and Emma is so incredibly charmed by him and his stupidly mussed hair and sleepy smile. It’s kind of ridiculous, but she loves that smile and the way his hair can’t be contained when he hasn’t combed through it.

“And I make you the grossest sandwich in existence.”

“It’d only be the grossest if it involved mayonnaise and tuna or something.”

“This is true.” It’s Killian’s turn to lean over the counter until his lips are brushing across the tip of her nose. “I truly am thankful for you and not simply because you wear Spanx for me and heels that make your feet scream.”

“Yeah, babe,” Emma sighs, her heart content. “I know.”

“Merry Christmas, Swan.”

“Merry Christmas, my love. Should we steal some more cookie dough?”

-/-

**February 2021**

“This is weird.”

  
  
“What is? Being here?”

“Yep,” Emma hums as she looks out the window and sees the congested streets of Manhattan. “I don’t know...I knew it would be different to be back in America, but it’s just - I don’t know. I’ve only been to New York three times, so it’s not like it’s somewhere I spent a lot of time. Driving on this side of the road is kind of freaking me out.”

Killian huffs, but then his fingers are twining together with hers and he’s pulling her knuckles to his lips to kiss right above her wedding band. “We’ve been in America for a week, darling. I feel like you should be used to it by now.”

“Yeah,” she yawns, “I know, but honestly, I can’t tell you what we’ve done this week. It’s all a sleep-deprived blur. What are we even doing today?”

“I believe we’re going to a basketball game to meet with some children and promote the North American opening of Kidding A Goal, and then tomorrow we have several charities we’re visiting before a meeting with our U.S. diplomats.”

“And then we go home?”

“No, then we have the function at NYU. I’m giving a speech, but after that, I believe we’re going home. We’ll have to ask Ariel when we get to the hotel. I’m sure she’ll have everything mapped out to the exact minute.” Emma yawns again before her eyes flutter closed and she’s lulled into drowsiness. “Emma?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you need to stay in the hotel tonight and sleep? No one would blame you if you missed the game.”

She scoffs. There are literally thousands, probably millions of people who would blame her. Brennan would be the first person, and then all of the people who already hate her would be right in line after him. She’s been hailed as some kind of American princess for years now, and all of their aides and publicists have been marketing this visit with her returning to her roots or something.

Los Angeles, Atlanta, and New York City aren’t exactly her roots.

But this is her life. She loves it even when she hates it. She can roll with the punches.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises. “Of all of the things we’ve had to do on this tour, I think going to a basketball game might be the easiest.”

-/-

The basketball game takes forever.

Seriously. How can a game that’s slated to last a certain amount of time exceed that time by hours? Either be like tennis where you have no idea how long it’s going to take or like football (soccer) where when the time is set, it usually stays that way.

This is why she’s never liked this sport.

And really, the entire time that they’re there, one of the publicists from the team talks down to her like she doesn’t know what’s going on. Granted, she doesn’t know all the rules, but there’s a difference between explaining something and talking down to someone. But it’s all fine and good, and she and Killian have a nice experience sitting courtside and stuffing their face with popcorn while sweaty men with squeaking sneakers run by them. Afterwards (and during honestly) there are a million and two photo ops, but Emma likes getting to talk to all of the kids that are there for them and for the game. They’re all adorable, and they give her and Killian matching jerseys that she feels like Killian is definitely going to be wearing more often than he should.

He seems to like basketball more than she does, but maybe she’d enjoy it more if she wasn’t so exhausted that she could fall asleep standing up.

They probably don’t get back to the hotel until two in the morning, and when they do, Killian promptly kisses her goodnight and then falls asleep.

Emma doesn’t.

Because, of course, she can’t fall asleep, and when their alarm goes off the next morning and Killian rolls over in bed to kiss the side of her neck, lingering there as he whispers sweet words against her skin, all Emma can think is that she only got two interrupted hours of sleep.

Her makeup artist is going to kill her.

If Emma doesn’t fall out from exhaustion first.

Several cups of coffee and a hell of a lot of concealer later, however, she’s good to go for another day of representing her new country to her old country.

Life gets weirder every day.

She’d do it all over again in a heartbeat for Killian.

-/-

“Love, have you packed our toiletries already?”

“Love?”

“Emma?”

There’s a tap against her shoulder, and Emma jumps, blinking several times until Killian’s blurry face comes into clearer view so that she can see the blue of his eyes and the scar on his cheek.

“Emma, darling, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, waving him away and grabbing a pair of leggings out of the drawer. There’s no way she’s flying home in actual pants. That’s too long of a flight for anything that doesn’t have a soft elastic waist. She’s also wearing comfortable shoes because she’s going to boycott heels for a month. “Did you need something?”

Killian’s head tilts while his brows furrow. “I was asking if you’d packed away our toiletries. I’d like to brush my teeth again after drinking coffee, but I can’t seem to find the bags.”

“Really?” She begins to walk across the suite in their hotel room toward the bathroom. “Because they should be on the vanity. I haven’t packed them up yet. I - ”

Her feet catch in the carpet as her head suddenly begins to spin, and not for the first time in the last few days, Emma feels light-headed. But this is different. She can’t focus on anything, every object around her a pixelated version of itself, and before she can grab onto a blurred version of a dresser, she’s falling to the ground with the sound of Killian’s voice echoing behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this was pretty much like that original epilogue, didn’t I? Sorry to all of you newbies! I love and appreciate you all for giving this story a shot and all of the love you have given it 😘🙈


	15. Epilogue - Part Two

**February 2021**

His heart is in his throat.

It’s been that way for several hours now, and at some point, Killian should probably get that checked out by a medical professional who can assure him that he’s not going to die and that his heart will return to his chest and beat at a normal rate again.

He is in a hospital, after all, so there’s likely someone who can help him out.

“Killian, you have to stop clenching your fist.”

“I’m not clenching my fist.”

“Literally, look down at your hand.”

Killian blinks before looking down at his hands. His right is tangled with Emma’s, his grip stronger than it should be, while his left is, indeed, balled into a fist on her mattress.

Oh.

Sighing, Killian unclenches his first before loosening his grip on Emma and leaning forward to press his lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry, love. I - fuck. I really don’t mean to be so dramatic, but you fainted out of nowhere just as we were about to leave to go home, and I’m terrified that something awful is wrong with you.”

Emma’s hand pushes into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shouldn’t be the one who is being comforted right now. He should be comforting Emma. She’s the one who is in a hospital bed waiting on the results of all of the tests they ran on her, and while he knows she likely had low blood sugar and a lack of sleep from the hectic schedule of their tour, he cannot help but think of all of the horrendous things that could be wrong with his wife.

He loves her in sickness and in health, always, but God, he hopes she’s alright. He can’t live without her, which is so damn selfish to think, but this is where they are now.

(And he can be selfish when it comes to wanting Emma to be alright.)

It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he knows she doesn’t actually know, not yet. “It’s been a crazy week with no sleep, and I skipped meals, which was stupid. It’s probably low blood sugar or exhaustion or something else I can fix when we get home and have some time off.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“I mean, I could be dying, but I didn’t think that’s what you wanted me to say.”

“Swan - ”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes at him. “I’m fine until the doctor says otherwise because I pretty much refuse for something to be wrong with me.”

Killian nods and leans down to press his lips against her knuckles once more. He understands. He refuses for something to be wrong with her too. They’ve already spent too much time in their lives with Emma in a hospital, and he doesn’t want to keep doing this.

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” Dr. Roberts sing-songs as she walks back into the room. He has no idea if this woman is always this peppy or if maybe this is her way of saying there’s nothing wrong with Emma before she actually says it. If there is something wrong, Dr. Roberts really has to work on how she speaks. “So, I have some good news.”

Killian perks up, while Emma stays sitting as she was, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re fine,” Dr. Roberts continues, her smile bright as ever, “and so is your baby.”

“Oh thank God,” Killian sighs, leaning forward again. He’d truly convinced himself that something awful was wrong, but Emma is fine. She’s fine.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, “did you just say I’m pregnant?”

_What?_

“I did.”

_Pregnant._

“I cannot be pregnant.”

_Emma is pregnant._

_How did he not hear that part?_

“You are most definitely pregnant, Your Highness.”

_How is Emma pregnant?_

“You just told me I apparently have a baby in my uterus. You can call me Emma.”

_Is he going to be a dad? Is Emma going to be a mum?_

Killian’s head shoots up from where it’s buried against Emma’s hand to quickly look at her and her slack-jawed expression before looking at Dr. Roberts.

The doctor nods before looking between the two of them, and Killian stops staring a hole into her eyes to turn to look back at his wife who is apparently carrying their child. He feels like the biggest asshole in the world because he can’t seem to form coherent thoughts and should probably be having some kind of poetic thought about what this is going to mean to him, to the both of them.

Killian may be a little shocked.

The fact that Emma is too makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

“Emma,” Dr. Roberts sighs, “I think I’ll give the two of you some time to yourselves to talk since I seem to have shared some rather big news. Just know that both you and your baby are fine, but you need to make sure that you’re not overexerting yourself. You fainted because of a lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and your pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Killian manages to mutter out while his thumb caresses Emma’s knuckles and Dr. Roberts walks out of the room. The moment the door closes, Killian leans down to kiss Emma’s hand before looking up at her. “Penny for your thoughts, love.”

“I’m really scared that my feet are going to get bigger.”

Killian barks out a laugh and rises from his chair in order to get closer to Emma, dipping his head down and kissing her because he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t be kissing her at every available moment.

Especially now.

Especially always.

“I believe that means you’ll simply have to get new shoes. I think that can be arranged.”

“Never did I think there would be a day where you were encouraging me to get more shoes.”

“Well, you do have to throw out the old ones, of course.”

Emma’s chuckle is small, but it’s there, and Killian rests his forehead against hers while Emma’s hand comes to rest in his hair, toying with the little strands at the nape of his neck.

God, that feels good.

_They’re having a baby._

“Killian,” she whispers, “how am I pregnant?”

“I don’t think I really need to explain the concept of sex to you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. When we are having sex, or making love if that’s your preferred term, and I reach my - ”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Wrong part of the body.”

“Ten years from now, when we think back on the moment I found out I was pregnant, this is what you’re going to have to remember.”

_Emma is pregnant._

_They’re going to be parents._

_Bloody hell._

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, pulling back from her so that he can tuck her hair behind her ears and see the beautiful green of her eyes. They’re wet with tears, and he imagines his are too. “And I don’t know how this happened. I assume...I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened, but I do know that I’m happy. Are you happy?”

Emma nods while tugging on her bottom lip. “I’m happy, but I’m scared. I mean, we’ve talked about wanting kids, but talking about it and actually knowing that I’m pregnant is - ”

“Nerve-wracking.”

“Pretty much,” she laughs. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. I don’t think we know how to have a baby.”

“I imagine we’ll figure it out.”

“I guess we will.”

-/-

Killian is flooded with joy for the first week of them knowing Emma is pregnant. She’s only eight weeks along now, so they haven’t told a soul yet, but he’s itching to, if only because he desperately needs to talk to someone about it.

Someone who isn’t Emma because right now, he’s feeling like a piece of worthless scum on the sidewalk for some of the thoughts he’s having.

There are so many damn emotions that come with Killian knowing Emma is pregnant - happiness, elation, joy, terror, anxiousness, excitement - and as much as he fluctuates between all of them, there’s only one that creeps into the forefront of his mind in the middle of the night after a day wandering around knowing that their lives are going to keep changing every single day.

Uncertainty.

And it’s rubbish because he’s not even sure if uncertainty is an emotion, but it’s also rubbish because he’s feeling uncertain not because he doesn’t want this baby, but because he’s terrified that he won’t be a good father to their child.

Killian has a piss poor excuse for a father, and as much as David has filled in for that role, it’s not the same as having a good example for his entire life and seeing year-by-year proof that children can grow up to love their dads and not resent them or be hesitant to even be in the same room as them at family gatherings. He doesn’t love his dad, and he hates that he’s consumed by that. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times in his life, and all Killian feels some days is that he’s already a failure.

(It’s been a week. How is he already screwing up after a week?)

If he didn’t know that Emma is going to be the most incredible mum on the planet and make up for all of his shortcomings, he’d be fully convinced that he couldn’t do this and that fatherhood simply wasn’t for him.

Which is utter bullshit. He’s been in love with Emma for nearly a decade, has known he’s wanted to have children with her for most of that time, and Brennan should not still be able to take up so much space in Killian’s head.

Not anymore.

He’s fighting those demons and dealing with them in his counseling and every time he has to deal with his father, and Killian is determined not to let him taint this.

He can’t.

Not when the woman in bed next to him might as well be an angel sent to him from above, and not when the almost invisible curve of her stomach resting underneath his hand can be felt. They weren’t prepared for this. It wasn’t planned, and it’s apparently the result of the two of them thinking that the month of December was some kind of sex parade where birth control was sometimes optional.

(Emma found where she had skipped birth control pills after they got home, and he thinks she stared at the package for an hour at the very least.)

They were so stupid.

But he doesn’t regret it. Killian can’t. If they’d waited and tried some time from now, the baby growing in Emma wouldn’t be _this_ baby. It would be a wonderful baby he and Emma both love with everything in them, but it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe next time, if they’re lucky enough, the pregnancy will be a result of months of careful love-making and a pointed attempt at trying, but to him, it doesn’t matter.

He’s scared out of his mind about being a dad, doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Not when he has Emma.

“You’re thinking too much,” Emma mumbles, twisting in the bed.

He lays his hand flat over her stomach. “You’re talking in your sleep.”

“I’m awake. Your thoughts were so loud.”

“If you can hear my thoughts, I feel like you need to explain quite a few of the fights we’ve had.”

“Don’t wanna,” Emma mumbles sleepily. Killian huffs into her hair before twisting around her and allowing her to stick her freezing cold feet between his calves while his lips brush over her cheek. His hand flexes over her stomach again, feeling the proof of a decade of love and heartbreak and everything in between. “You’re a good baby daddy.”

(He rather despises that term, and Emma seems fit to call him that this week. Hopefully that will die down, but he really can’t complain when Emma has just become fraught with morning sickness as of yesterday.)

“Am I?” he whispers into her hair, trying not to laugh. She’s not going to remember any of this in the morning. She has a habit of waking in the middle of the night, having a conversation, and then forgetting about it the next morning.

“Mhm. You’re sweet, and you’re also really hot. I like that about you.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad I can be of service for you in that way.”

Her breathing starts to even out after that, slowly returning to how it was, and Killian keeps moving his hand over the small, almost swell of her stomach, something that he knows is a comfort to both of them already.

“Killian?”

“Yes, love?” he whispers so quietly the ceiling fan drowns out the noise of his voice.

“You’re going to be a good dad.”

And even though she’s mostly asleep when she says it, Killian knows that Emma thinks that. She has so much faith in him even when she shouldn’t, and her words settle the beating of his heart and the worry running circles in his mind.

It’s not everything, but it’s a start.

(And technically, Emma having faith in him is everything.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and far more than he deserves.

But he’s glad for it.)

-/-

“What the hell are you wearing?”

  
  
“What? You don’t like it?”

“It’s rather beige.”

Emma huffs and tugs at her bra, pulling it out and gathering all of the excess fabric there. “My mom thought it would be appropriate to buy me nursing bras, but this isn’t even close to my size. Like, I understand I’m going to balloon up in every way imaginable, but this is gigantic.”

“We told your parents about the baby two days ago. How has your mom already sent you new bras?”

“Express shipping, babe.”

Killian laughs and walks toward her. She’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but her knickers and this massive bra that he can’t ever imagine Emma properly fitting into. Apparently, she can’t imagine it either. It hangs far off her back and over her breasts, and if she lets it go from her grasp, it falls to expose her nipples.

She looks ridiculous.

But also rather lovely, and when she turns around to face him, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, he steps up to her and places his hands on her hips, fingers inching up over her sides. “This is the sexiest you have ever looked.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, slapping his stomach.

“What? Can I not talk about it? This bra is so much better than everything you have in your closet.”

“You’re being dumb.”

“Oh, always.”

He leans into her and brushes his scruff against her neck, knowing that it tickles her, before doing the same with his fingers against her sides. Emma is squirming away from him, or, at least, trying to, but he doesn’t let her, backing her up against the counter as he keeps moving against her while she gasps for breath and laughs.

In between calling him an asshole, of course. That’s her favorite name for him.

“K-killian,” she gasps, leaning away from him as he kisses her neck and moves to kiss her jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”  
  


“In an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Aye,” he promises before kissing the corner of her lips until she’s turning to him so she can move her mouth over his, soft and slow and absolutely perfectly. As always. “But I think I might have some time to spend with you first.”  
  


“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I take this damn bra off?”

“That was kind of the plan.”

-/-

They’re having a boy.

Killian was convinced that they were going to have a girl, as was Emma, and while it’s definitely a shock despite the equal odds, it doesn’t change anything about their excitement level or any of their plans going forward.

_They’re having a boy._

And they can’t decide on a name. Everything in his head and on the list on the refrigerator were decidedly more feminine names, and while David, Liam, and Graham all cheekily suggest that their son should be named after one of them, Killian isn’t too sure about that.

(Ruby says their son can and should be named Ruby because she simply cannot wait until they have a girl for her to have a kid named after her.

When Emma suggests she have her own kid - “pregnancy is a bitch,” Emma mumbles - Ruby raises her hands in defeat and says they should name the kid whatever they want.)

It’s not that simple.

For as much as he and Emma push back on the traditions of his family and some of the inane rituals, they do want the name to fit. However, they want it to fit both them as a couple and his family. It’s a mixing of lifestyles and opinions, and the debates seem to rage on and on. Killian’s mum tells him she’s happy with whatever name they choose because it’s their family, Killian’s father makes a rare comment just to tell them how much he’s still pissed over Emma saying she won’t pose for photographs the day after giving birth, and Emma can’t seem to decide on anything.

(Except that she’s still not going to pose for photographs and expose their child to the wildness of the press after twenty-four hours of life, and he supports her wholeheartedly.

The press has tried to ruin them time and time again, emotionally and physically, and Killian will not stand for it for his wife or their child.)

Killian has his preferences, but he’s trying to narrow down her choices on the massive list that seems to keep growing and growing each day.

The name debate wages on as the weeks pass by and Emma’s stomach continues to grow. Killian never spent a lot of time imagining what this period in his life would be like, but overall, it’s mostly the same as he expected it would be. At least for him. Emma has gone through highs and extreme lows as her hormones attack her and change her body, and all he could do was support her and rub her back when she was vomiting.

And make every food that she wants, no questions asked. Though, surprisingly, her cravings are not at all what movies make them out to be. They do follow along with a lot that he’s read in the books and articles he’s consuming.

“There is literally no reason to read ten different books on the same thing,” Emma mumbles as she pulls her up into a bun. “That’s got to be information overload.”

“It’s varying opinions, love,” he insists, taking another note and sticking it to the page in his book. “I want to know as much as I can so I’m not caught unaware, and I needed a break from looking at cabinet handles for the new house.”

“Babe, you’re going to be caught unaware. It’s going to happen. Not even you can completely prepare for this.”

“Aye, but I can try.”

And he does try. He tries as he reads his books and looks at articles online so that he can at least be the tiniest bit more prepared than he would be. Emma reads books as well and is always looking to see his notes and what he knows, but she’s definitely the more relaxed of the two of them.

At least he thinks that.

She’s six and a half months pregnant and in a wonderful phase of constantly wanting him no matter what they’re doing when he realizes that Emma doesn’t like to constantly talk about the baby because it is all anyone talks to her about. When she does engagements, it’s what people mention. When they go out to dinner, even the servers mention their impending parenthood. When Emma talks on the phone with his mother, Allison is constantly talking about gifts for the baby and plans and asking if Emma has looked into some of the classes Allison suggested. Everyone means well and simply wants to share in their excitement, but their life isn’t all about this baby.

Their life is greatly enhanced by him and will change because of him, but at the core of it all, they’re still Emma and Killian who have been having conversations for nearly a decade about things other than a baby.

And Emma is still Emma, and she wants people to ask her how she is or what books she’s read lately or any conversation that would have been had before she was pregnant.

Late at night, though, when they’re lounging in bed with his hand on her stomach and his chest pressed into her back, sometimes she likes to whisper her thoughts and her fears, all of the hopes that she has for this future that keeps getting nearer and nearer to them.

The road to getting here was full of sharp wrong turns and dark corners full of heartbreak, and while they may have gotten a little lost along the way, they’re here now. That’s absolutely all that matters.

It always has been.

“Babe,” Emma calls out on a sunny day in June. They’ve been home all day, neither of them changing out of their pajamas, and he imagines from the look of it, Emma hasn’t combed through her hair. To be fair, he hasn’t either. “Do you know where the peanut butter is?”

“We had that entire box shipped here for you. It should be in the cupboard.”

  
  
“I don’t see it.”

“Have you checked the bottom shelf?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

Killian sighs and puts down the letters he was responding to in order to get up and walk toward Emma and the cupboard. When he steps inside the room, he immediately goes in search of the box of jars of peanut butter he ordered for Emma only for it not to be there.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“That’s kind of an extreme reaction to not being able to find the peanut butter.”

“How did we lose an entire box of peanut butter?”

  
  
“It can’t be lost. It has to be misplaced.”

“Lost, misplaced. Whatever, love.”

He squats down to look over all of the bottom shelves before scanning each and every other one, shifting around containers and boxes and every other insane organizational tool he decided to buy when he wanted this room to be contained and not a mess.

Except he can’t seem to find anything.

Mostly this damn peanut butter.

“You know what,” Emma sighs, “it’s fine. I’ll eat something else.”

“Darling, I will find it.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Killian,” Emma huffs, tugging on his wrist until he turns around to look at her, “it’s fine. We have those smoothies I like in the fridge. I’ll drink one of those instead.”

  
  
“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” She tugs on his wrists again until she’s pulling him out of the room and back into their kitchen. “It wasn’t important.”

“I simply don’t understand where the peanut butter could have gone. I mean, I suppose it could have been moved, but I - ”

Emma loops her arms around his neck and presses up on her toes until she’s gently sliding her lips over his in a slow kiss that has his heartbeat quickening and gooseflesh rising over his skin.

“Stop worrying about it,” she murmurs as they sway back and forth with her stomach pressed tightly against his. “I don’t want a repeat of the blueberry muffin incident.”

“Dammit, don’t - ”

She kisses him again, insistently pressing her lips into his, and Killian presses back, pecking her lips once before doing it again and again and again. He kisses her fleetingly all the while continuing to sway the both of them. The wood is cold against his bare feet, so he’s sure Emma’s feet are literal icicles, but he’s not focusing on that as Emma begins to laugh, a small melodic sound that carries with the music that’s playing over the speaker on his phone from where he was listening to it when he was working.

But the laugh grows louder as Killian’s mouth moves away from hers and more toward the corner of her lips so that his scruff brushes against her skin, tickling her in the same way that his fingers are scratching against her sides and over the edges of her belly.

“You’re the only one I want to make laugh, truly.”

Emma’s laugh quiets at those words until she’s tightening her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his neck. There’s a sharp inhale of her breathing him in, and Killian kisses the top of her hair.

“You’re a romantic, my love,” she whispers.

“That’s what I strive to be.”

“I know. It’s why you practice all of those lines in the mirror.”

Killian scoffs. “I do not do that.”

“If anyone asks, it’s your word against mine, and well…”

She lets the words trail off, obviously waiting for him to fill in the blanks and continue their banter, but he doesn’t. He can’t, because the song is changing, and it’s been ages since he danced with her in the privacy of their home. Everything lately has been in suits and dresses with Emma’s heels making her nearly his height, but it hasn’t been the two of them in pajamas with messy hair and the ghost of missing peanut butter cascading over them.

So he keeps moving them, a gentle sway that turns into more, and they traverse the space in the kitchen, their feet quickly moving as Killian whispers in Emma’s ear words of affection that flow from his heart. It’s moments and times like these in the sanctity of their kitchen when it’s just the two of them and no one and nothing else that he thinks of how grateful he is that they fought for their love and won. Nothing about this was ever guaranteed or predestined, but they figured it out.

“I love you.”

Emma hums. “I love you, too.”

She pulls her head back until he can see her eyes, the beautiful glint of blue wrapped up in the green, and her smile is so bright that he can’t imagine not kissing her. He can’t imagine not kissing her as often as he’s able and not kissing her every day on a multitude of occasions. So he does.

And he hopes not to ever stop having that desire.

He won’t.

Emma is his wife and the mother of his child, of this one between them now and any ones in the future, but most of all, he thinks, she’ll always be his closest companion.

His best friend.

“Hey,” Emma whispers after they’ve been silently dancing for at least two songs.

“Yeah, love?”

“I think I’ve finally decided what name I want for the baby.”

Killian chuckles and tilts his head to the side to press his lips into her hair once more, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and everything that he’s grown accustomed to over the years. “And what’s that then?”

-/-

Their son is born on September twenty-third, a few days after Killian’s thirty-second birthday.

They name him Andrew Killian Phillip Jones.

He always goes by Andy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that read Second in Command (the original version of this story) and that crazy long epilogue/sequel, you know that Andy was kind of the star of the show there. I wanted to include him here because even though this story is vastly different and their journey is full of more bumps in the road, I wanted to show that they still got that same happy ending...or, well, happy beginning ❤️
> 
> Thank you to all of your for your support on this story and on all of them! It's honestly and truly incredible at how kind everyone is to me, and I am more appreciative of it than I can put into words!

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com)! Feel free to drop by and send me a message, ask, or simply look around ❤️


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